


The Empress

by SanctuaryTrin



Category: Jynnic - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Elemental Magic, Emperor Krennic, F/M, Jynnic Fantasy AU, Kyber magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanctuaryTrin/pseuds/SanctuaryTrin
Summary: Next Chapter is the wedding...and the wedding night ;)Thanks for being so patient <3





	1. Chapter 1

The hand on the back of her neck was clad in armor, and ice cold. The flagstones under her knees and forehead were frigid as well.

Inside, Jyn was molten with fury.

“Release her. She came in peace.”

Distressed apologies from the guard as he removed his hand and backed away.

Jyn lifted her head and saw shining black boots and a white cape that skimmed the stones. White. The Emperor’s color.

“Untie her hands, you _dog,_  must I specify what release means?”

“Your Majesty, she is a skilled fighter and very dangerou-”

“ _At once!_ ”

Jyn felt the swordpoint tremble as it sawed through the rope around her wrists, heard the slide of metal as guards tensed, but she was not here to attempt a one woman coup. She was here to bargain.

The rope broke free and Jyn sprang to her feet, head held high to meet the eyes of Emperor Krennic in an audacious act of defiance.

 

Nobody had told her that his eyes were beautiful. In that moment, Jyn believed the tales. He was indeed a descendant of sky gods, gathering his power from starlight and wind and the endless expanse of blue.

 

The Emperor visibly centered himself and examined Jyn with a mixture of fascination and amusement. She could feel his intelligence, like a subtle knife point pricking along her consciousness. If he wanted to, he could pierce her.

“Speak, child.”

She had seen twenty summers. She could have been married four times over by now. Child. What slops.

“I am Jyn Erso of the Kyberi tribe from the Northern grasslands. I have come to bargain for my father’s life.”

“The Kyberi of the earth tribes...loyal, strong and steadfast,” his glacial eyes glittering.  “In their rebellion against me, that is.”

“Release my father and we shall relent.”

The Emperor’s grim, hard mouth tugged at the corners into a patronizing half smile.

“Your father is useful to me. He holds some sort of shamanic sway over the crag formations where the crystals are mined. Crystals such as this one,” Krennic said as he held out a gloved hand and took a step toward Jyn. She stiffened, but stood her ground as the Emperor slid a large finger under the leather cord around her neck. He lifted it slowly until he held the Kyber pendant in his palm.

It glowed against the black leather, and Krennic met Jyn’s hard gaze.

“These crystals sharpen the senses, do they not?” His voice was a low hum and the stern line of his mouth seemed to soften, but Jyn remained rebelliously silent. She was not about to reveal any secrets to this man. Not until he gave her what she wanted.

 

Krennic released the crystal from his grasp, and as it made contact with Jyn’s bare skin, his eyes locked with hers. Jyn felt the warm fluttering, the intensity of awareness returning, but as he turned away, her senses dulled.

_Strange..._

The Emperor took a few steps, then turned back, his ice white cape flaring about him.

“I will release your father, but you shall remain in his stead.”

Jyn blinked, then narrowed her eyes.

“As what, exactly? Chattel? A serving girl who brings your wine and bends forward to your whims?”

“As Empress.”

Jyn could not suppress the snortish laugh that burst forth, but in examining the Emperor’s face, she found nothing but sincerity.

“You are mad,” she whispered, and heard the scrape of metal as the guards shifted in response to such a naked insult.

Emperor Krennic held up a gloved hand to the guards but remained intent on Jyn.

“An alliance with your people would be most advantageous to me, and to you as well, Jyn Erso. It would mean an end to the battles, an end to scorched farms, an end to orphaned children-”

“Kyber crystals are spiritually significant. They are not to be used to conquer and oppress.”

“And yet you wear one, Jyn. You wear one because it gives you strength and enhances your perception. These things help you in battle, do they not?”

“I am honored to wear one because I fully understand it’s power.”

“Then help me to understand it as well!” Krennic retorted, eyes blazing.

So he had the fire of stars within him...he wasn’t completely cold after all.

“I want peace, Jyn. My people can coexist with yours. We have secrets as well.”

“Sky magic,” Jyn scoffed. “Violent and unpredictable. Intangible. I have no interest in it.”

The Emperor stepped closer to her, his eyes darkening to storm gray.

“And yet the sky bends over the earth. The two meet at the farthest horizon. If there were nothing beneath the sky to behold its stars, it would be forever meaningless, would it not?”

He was trying to charm her.

He wasn’t entirely unsuccessful.

“Send for my father. If I do not speak with him before his release he will take this marriage as an act of aggression, and my people will retaliate.”

The Emperor tilted his head and licked his lips.

“By all means, you must see him. _Bring the prisoner Erso to me_ ,” he called to his guard.

“I would like to see him in private, Your Majesty.” Jyn gave a deliberate, seductive heaviness to his title, and sensed his blood pulse in response.

Her charms had power as well.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
She was led to a receiving room of some sort, white and sparkling, with high vaulted ceilings painted with stars in the tradition of the Skies. Never in her life had she seen such a room. Neither in her dreams nor in her wildest imaginings as she sat by the fire and listened, wide eyed, to the stories her father would tell her about the sky gods.

There was no chance of her sitting down, so she paced and listened and rolled her Kyber between her fingers.

The ornately carved door opened, and Jyn saw her father. He looked surprisingly well. He was not filthy and starved as she had expected a prisoner to be, but as he approached Jyn, she could see that his eyes were profoundly sad, their warm earth color trampled to near black. She waited until the door was closed behind her father, then ran to him and embraced him.

“Did they hurt you?” Galen Erso asked his daughter.

“No, father not at all. I am well.”

“Jyn,” said Galen, grasping her hands. “Beg the Emperor’s forgiveness and leave this place. Do not come back. I am captive, but they have treated me fairly, and I believe I can make a tentative peace between us, but you cannot stay here. Our people need you with them.”

“Our people need _you_ ,” said Jyn fiercely, squeezing his hands. “Listen to me father. The Emperor wishes to make an alliance.”

“An alliance? Of what sort?”

Jyn swallowed.

“A marriage.”

For a moment Galen looked confused, then his face contorted in disgust.

“No, Jyn.”

“Father, _think_. It is the best way. Please, trust me. I can reveal just enough about the crystals to keep him satisfied and I will find other ways to...distract him...”

“To what end? He will tire of you eventually and slit your throat and we will have all out war.”

“We will have it if you stay here!” Jyn cried. “Go back to our people. Let me try and make this peace, father. Please.”

Galen shook his head and looked down in defeat. He seemed to search the floor for an answer. Jyn lowered her voice and stepped nearer to him.

“If I focus, I will be able to sense his intentions. If they are threatening toward me, his throat will be cut first.”

Her father’s dark eyes swam as his gaze lifted to hers. He touched the Kyber crystal pendant and Jyn was flooded with fear, anger, and despair. Her own eyes filled with tears.

“Trust your instincts, Jyn. Above all else.”

“I understand,” she choked out and threw her arms around his neck.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  
Jyn touched the cold glass of the window as she watched her father led from the palace by the Emperor’s personal guard; three monstrously tall figures clad in black known as The Void.

As Jyn had requested, The Void halted at the gates and her father continued on alone, bound for the North. Jyn’s heart clenched as she watched his familiar stride. Her sad, warm, bear father. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

“There is still time to provide a guarded escort, if you wish.” The Emperor offered, his voice calm and soft behind her.

“No. Leave him,” Jyn said through the lump in her throat. She turned and met Krennic’s eyes. “If you harm him I will know. Even if he is across the world I will know instantly.”

“I do not doubt you,” said Krennic. “But we have come to an understanding, and I will not break your trust.”

“There is none to break,” said Jyn simply.

The Emperor’s shoulders twitched.

“Then I shall concentrate on building it from the ground up.”

Jyn could feel his sincerity, but there was something else underneath. Something beckoning and seductive. She realized in a sudden rush that she was to be his, completely. Her eyes lowered as uncharacteristic shyness overcame her, and then she sensed his response.

_Desire and fascination held fiercely in check. Gripped to strangulation._

“Take Lady Jyn to the Star Rooms,” commanded the Emperor before addressing Jyn once again. “The palace is your home, now. I’ll have an imperial guard escort you to your chambers. Should you require anything, anything at all, simply ask any of the servants, “ he said with a small sweeping gesture of his black gloved hand.

Jyn nodded and turned to follow the guard.

“My lady.”

She stopped and faced the Emperor. He was removing his glove. Jyn’s eyes flashed from his hands to his bright eyes.

“It is customary…”

She held out her hand in a quick movement and Krennic gently grasped it. As her bare skin touched his, her pendant flared, sending a pulse of energy through her bloodstream. Krennic bent his head and touched his lips to the back of her hand.

_He liked the smell of her. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to take her fingers in his mouth and suck on them, he wanted to touch her with his tongue, all of her, in every hidden place._

Jyn’s eyes squeezed shut. This feeling, between her legs…

The Emperor straightened and took a step back, releasing her hand.

 

By the time Jyn was brought to her chambers she was still vibrating with sensation.

 

Servants dressed in pale grey surrounded her, their instructive murmurings drifting through her consciousness like vapor.

In three days time she would be The Bright Star. The Emperor’s consort. Empress.

Dresses were already being made for her.

Her bath would be ready in a few moments.

She was to sleep here until the ceremony.

 

Jyn suddenly crashed back down to earth.

“And after the ceremony?”

“After the ceremony, the silver door is unlocked,” said one of the older servants as she gestured toward a narrow door set into the wall near the bed. It was heavily set in pure silver with celestial patterns, some five pointed, some spherical.

“I assume the Emperor’s room lies beyond?” 

The servant nodded, her gray eyes wide.

“The High Star,” she said softly.

She had a very beautiful voice, not unlike Jyn’s mother, or at least what she could remember of her mother.

“What is your name?” asked Jyn.

“Moth,” replied the servant. She seemed somewhat surprised at being asked.

Jyn nodded. She knew that the lower classes tended to have simple creature names.

“My father always called me Stardust.”

Moth tipped her head, a slight smile on her lips. “That’s an odd nickname for a girl of the earth tribes…” Her eyes cast downward as she mused. “Perhaps your father knew something of your fate...that you were meant to be one of us.”

“Kyber crystals have many attributes, but telling the future isn’t one of them,” said Jyn with a wry smile.

“Perhaps not. But that may have been an attribute of _his_ ,” replied Moth slowly.

Jyn’s smile faded as she considered Moth’s words.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn and so personally.”

“No, please,” Jyn stammered, suddenly feeling a pang of grief. “Please don’t apologize. I value your words.”

Moth bowed her head. “Thank you, my lady. I believe your bath is ready, shall I help you to undress?”

“No. No, thank you. I’m sure I can manage. I don’t require anything else for the rest of the evening.”

“My lady, the Emperor expects you to dine with him-”

“I’m sure he does, but I will be staying in my room. I am very tired. It has been a difficult day.”

“Of course. We will relay the message.”

Moth put her palms together and made a quick, sweeping sound, and the rest of the servants assembled and then filtered out of the room, each with a bow to Jyn.

Moth paused at the door. “If you require anything else, there is a signal cord next to the bath, and also next to the bed.” She made brief, graceful gestures with her pale hands, then pressed her palms together once again as she bowed her head. "My lady," she said with deference. 

She passed through the door with a flutter of ivory cloth, and Jyn was left alone in her new quarters.

Everything gleamed, shone, or shimmered. If stars and snow could have an array of colors, they were reflected in her rooms. Vapor white, ice grey, a bed of silver blue.

Jyn felt like a little brown leaf in that room, and she took care not to tremble like one.

 

Her bath was hot and smelled of rain. She lingered until the water grew cool and her limbs were pinkish. Sorrow sat heavy in her chest, but she was too exhausted to cry. She just wanted to fall into that great, silvery cloud of a bed and sleep for ages.

She stepped out of the basin, water streaming from her Kyber pendant and her hair, and reached for a cream colored robe trimmed with silver. The cloth was unknown to her, and had an uncanny way of warming and drying her skin while feeling weightless, as if she were wearing nothing but a faint breeze.

It was going to take quite a while for her to get used to this strange celestial world she found herself in.

Squeezing and shaking out her hair, Jyn made her way to the West facing windows of her room. To her acute interest, she saw they looked out upon a vast garden. Winding rows of ancient trees intertwined with flowering bushes and climbing roses. There was a white marble temple off to one side, and pathways stretched away from the palace into shadowed arbors, the treetops aglow with light from the setting sun.

Seeing the rich brown dirt and the living green made the tears come, and she blinked and pursed her lips and let the tears stream down her cheeks. She turned away from the blurred green and made her way to the bed, climbing onto it, settling in as if she were weightless upon a formless mist, and closed her eyes.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A sharp rapping at her door made her bolt up. She wiped her eyes and looked around. Her windows were night dark.

“Y-Yes?” she called out, her voice much weaker than she would have liked.

The door opened and the Emperor entered with a rapid sweep of white against the darkness.

Jyn slid backwards, defensively, but Krennic held up a hand. It was ungloved.

“Don’t be afraid, Jyn. I’m going to bring you some light. Give me one moment.”

He went to the silver door and unlatched it, then disappeared into his rooms. He returned a moment later holding a lit candleabrum, which he set upon her bedside table.

“This isn’t...I’m not ready,” stammered Jyn, her pendant flaring as she gathered strength, ready to fight if necessary.

“That’s not what this is,” said Krennic gently. “I mean only to speak with you for a few moments. My guards are posted outside, and as you can see I have left the door open. Please.”

“I doubt your Void would care if you wanted to taste your prize early,” said Jyn.

“Please,” he said again, “May I sit?” He gestured toward the edge of the bed.

Jyn swallowed.

“Give me your hand,” she said slowly.

The Emperor straightened and she felt a pulse of excitement emanate from him. He held out his hand.

“That’s not what this is, either,” she whispered, and touched his fingers with her own.

The flaring Kyber dimmed to a subtle flicker as she focused.  Excitement coursed through her, quickening her heart, but there was something else, too. The reins were tight. Consciously controlled by him.

He wasn’t going to take her tonight.

She pulled away and heard him clear his throat, saw him tilt his head and reset his shoulders.

“Yes, you may sit,” she said.

He sat on the edge of the bed. The Sky Emperor, the High Star, commander of five legions, and keeper of all celestial lore, was cautiously perched on the edge of Jyn’s bed.

“You did not join me for supper tonight, Jyn.”

“I was very tired. It’s been an eventful day.”

“This is understandable, but I expect you to dine with me tomorrow evening. You are to be the Bright Star. I cannot have you starve,” he said with a shake of his head.

Lined forehead, with a particularly deep line in between his brows, and reflective eyes in the flickering candlelight. Eyes that had a beautiful sadness to their outer shape. Like a stem too heavy with rain and bent toward the earth. He had deep lines on either side of his mouth, but they did not detract from it. They actually seemed to frame his lips, pulling the focus to them. Curved...with a slight point to the upper lip...

Suddenly Jyn realized that she had been examining him intently.  Not only that, but he was letting her. He was still and silent, and his gaze held no expectation or question. He simply accepted her curiosity and it alight upon him, bird like, while he remained passive.

“Is there anything else you wish to speak with me about?” asked Jyn finally. She was beginning to feel a certain restlessness. A stirring in her blood that was unfamiliar. It made her uneasy.

“Yes, but it is for you alone to know. Do I have permission to dismiss my guard and close your chamber door?”

Jyn hesitated, but nodded after a moment.

“I only wish to show you something, Jyn,” said the Emperor, holding up his large hands as he stood. “Leave us,” he called out, striding to the door, and Jyn heard the scrape of metal and the clank of footsteps before Krennic closed it.

“Please follow me,” he said, walking to the table and lifting a candle out of the candleabrum.

Jyn stood up and followed him through the silver door into a short passageway between the two bed chambers. She paused as she saw the pearl-like gleam of his chamber door beyond, but the Emperor stopped before entering. He turned to the right, and held up the candle to the paneled wall.

“See here,” he said softly, and pointed to a carved shape, circular, like a full moon, but with another circular shape repeated within. He pressed the inner circle, and there was a sharp clack as if something unlatched. He then pushed against the wall and the entire panel swung out like a door to reveal a steep downward stair.

Jyn couldn’t help the smile of wonder that crossed her face. She looked at Krennic and he smiled back at her with a soft, low chuckle that showed his teeth. He looked like an excited little boy finally sharing a long kept secret with a friend.

“Where does it lead?” Jyn asked.

A cool, mineral smell came from the darkness below.

“There’s a passage at the bottom that leads to a temple in the gardens. It’s a means of escape for the Emperor and his consort.”

His eyes shined soft, his smile remaining, and Jyn found herself rather fascinated by his mercurial face. 

“Jyn,” he continued, his expression turning grave, “No one knows about this but you and I. Not even the servants. It is for our protection, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Jyn.

“You may use this to enter the garden if you wish, just take care that you are not seen using the temple entrance. If there are garden servants or guests about, you must re-enter the palace by the garden door proper.”

“I understand,” she said, then looked back down the dim staircase. “May I see the garden now?”

Krennic blinked and cleared his throat.

“You may do as you wish...but I wonder if perhaps you are not dressed for it…”

His eyes flickered to Jyn’s breasts, then back off to the side as he cleared his throat for the second time.

Jyn looked down at herself. The flimsy robe she wore was parted in front and showed the inner curve of her breasts. Her nipples were shadowy through the fabric.

She looked up again and locked eyes with the Emperor.

Images flashed through her mind.

_His tousled head between her breasts, her fingers buried in his hair. His lips on her skin, finding her nipple, taking it into his mouth, teeth grazing the hard tip._

Her fingers flew to her Kyber crystal. It was cool and calm.

These visions...they were hers?

Jyn became aware of her parted lips and quickened breaths, then saw the same in the rise and fall of Krennic’s chest, so near her own in the narrow passage.

“Your highness…”

“Orson,” he said, head lowered, eyes penetrating.

“I...thank you for showing me this. For trusting me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. She felt held by his gaze, but it wasn’t the grip of a spell. It was something more subtle, and far more tenuous.

“My lady,” he finally said, and held out his hand.

Jyn gave him hers, her pendant flooding with warmth as she touched him. He brought her hand to his cheek and held it there against his skin, then turned and breathed a kiss against her palm.

Jyn did not focus on his response, for she was drowning in her own. This man, this powerful, iron willed, ruthless man with the lined face and gray hair was making her ache almost painfully between her legs.

Without thinking, she slid her hand out of his grasp, then took the Emperor’s hand and laid in on her throat, touching her crystal.  

His clear eyes widened, then squeezed shut as Jyn’s response coursed through him.

“Now I’ve shared a secret with you,” she whispered.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jyn was awake and dressed by the time the servants knocked. They floated in like milkweed fluff, softly saying their good mornings, lashes lowered against pale cheeks.

Jyn was relieved to see Moth among them, and approached her with a smile.

Moth took in Jyn’s appearance, clothed in her travel breeches and tunic from the previous day. She delicately cleared her throat.

“My lady, we have brought you some...suitable clothing, if you wish,” said Moth, and gestured to one of the younger girls, who noiselessly scurried up to Jyn. The girl’s arms seemed to be full of sparkling foam, but as she unfolded the mass and held it up, Jyn could see it was an elaborate gown. Silvery white, embroidered with stars.

“There are others being made as we speak,” said Moth. “I hope they will be to your satisfaction.”  

Jyn would have preferred to wear something simple; brown and green, or the rich black of earth, but she wasn’t about to quibble over dresses. They were the least of her worries. She nodded and began to undress, then lapsed into reluctant submission as several servant girls begged Jyn to let them assist her.

“Would you like breakfast in your room?” asked Moth.

“Yes please, just tea and bread will do,” replied Jyn as the servants urged her over to the vanity to have her hair put up.

It was only a matter of minutes before a tray was set down before her, and Jyn reached for the delicate tea cup and sipped. The tea was unlike any herb she had ever tasted, and her knowledge was vast. This brew was ozonic and fresh, as if from leaves that were ungreen and unbrown. The ghosts of leaves.

Moth spoke in her lovely voice. “Tomorrow the wedding guests will arrive for the ball, and preparations have begun for the marriage ceremony the day after.”

“Everything is happening so quickly,” said Jyn as she set down the teacup with a click. What she would have given for a sturdy mug of blackroot infusion.

“When the skies change, it can be swift,” smiled Moth.

Jyn’s responding smile was more of a grimace. She examined herself in the mirror as her dressers stepped away from their work. The sides of her dark hair had been coiled into thick braids and upswept, leaving the back long and brushed shiny.

“The Emperor has been very reluctant to take a bride,” Moth went on, “he has never shown much interest in the idea, actually. His intellectual pursuits consume him so. You are a blessing to us all, my lady. We are very much delighted by his sudden decision.”

“His decision was indeed sudden,” said Jyn, standing up and touching her cheek as she leaned closer to the mirror. Thinking about Emperor Krennic had brought a flush to her skin, and her green eyes seemed to sparkle.

What was happening to her?

“His intellectual pursuits,” she scoffed, regaining her practical self once again. “Intellectual pursuits like intimidating Earth leaders and pillaging our Kyber mines?”

Moth drew into herself for a moment, then spoke low. “Perhaps there are greater dangers that threaten us all that the Emperor is trying to stave off…”

Jyn turned and looked at Moth. She could feel the servant’s fear ignite outward in a scarlet burst, then retract quickly into flickering caution.

“You have very beautiful red hair,” said Jyn slowly.

Moth’s gray eyes shifted to the side. “Thank you, My Lady.”

“Were you born Fire?”

Moth’s responding look was a bright flare of pride.  

“I am a servant of the Skies. That’s all that matters now.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It was called the “informal” dining room but to Jyn it looked like every other room in the palace. Vast, airy, and glittering with many lights reflecting on shining surfaces.

The table was intimate in that it could seat six comfortably, but there were only two places set; one on each end.

The Emperor stood at his place, dressed in his formal white but without his cape and gloves. He crossed over to Jyn as she approached the table.

There was a heavy moment as he took in her appearance, but Jyn didn’t focus on his response. She didn’t need to. There was a certain reverence in his expression that revealed he found her beautiful.

“My lady,” he said with a bow of his head, and Jyn held out her hand. He grasped the tips of her fingers in his.

“I was going to say that you look like an empress, but in truth you looked like one from the very beginning. There’s a-”  he paused and swallowed, his top lip pointing downward “-bright strength to your eyes that is quite transfixing.”

“Thank you,” said Jyn simply.

He bent down and kissed her hand, and she felt a stirring within her. It took everything in her to not visualize the narrow, candlelit passage. To not remember those strange, chaotic, pleasurable feelings that coursed through her at his touch.

She withdrew her hand and Krennic straightened and gestured at her chair, head down but gaze up, in a way that made him look mischievous and boyish. Jyn took her seat, assisted by the Emperor, who waved the attending servants away and then took his own place at the table.

 

The food was light and refined. A far cry from the rich, simple fare of Jyn’s homeland; thick stews and chewy bread, starchy and sweet root vegetables, sturdy greens wilted and sharpened with vinegar.

Here, the greens were frilled and delicate like insect wings, and the soup was a clear broth of wild meadow cress. Wine was poured, and when Jyn took a sip it exploded in a cloudburst of bubbles over her tongue before evaporating. There was hardly anything left to swallow.

The Emperor ate sparingly and restlessly, his bright gaze flickering here and there, his shoulders intermittently twitching. There seemed to be a ripple of energy underneath his hard exterior, like the flow of a stream under a layer of ice. There were points on his body where the water bubbled up and overflowed, revealing this inner vivacity; his eyes and mouth, his hands and shoulders.

Jyn allowed herself to reflect on the night before when she had stood so close to this man, how calm and focused he was. She wondered if she could somehow delve underneath that calmness and touch the exhilaration, let it course over her body in a bright current...

She squeezed her thighs together and shifted in her seat. Her crystal was humming against her skin. Jyn heard the Emperor clear his throat and she looked up.

“Are you satisfied with your quarters, Lady Jyn?”

“Yes, Your High-”

“Orson,” he said gently, and touched the table with his fingertips. His eyes intense.

Jyn held his gaze.

“You are named after the bear.”

The Emperor smiled a wide, thin smile.

“And your name shines very brightly. As bright as the evening star.”

He held his smile but his mouth softened. He seemed to relax into himself, but Jyn was now agitated and restless. She changed the subject.

“We are to be married the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Are you always so quick with your choices?”

“No,” he said quietly, eyebrows raised, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

Jyn raised her chin as the memory of his “proposal” roused her indignation.

“You know nothing about me. I may be impure. In fact, I may already be with child.”

Krennic’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk. “I’m confident that you are neither.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you agreed to be my consort. It is well known that be impure would result in death. You would have never accepted my proposal.” He sat back in his chair, cocked his head, and folded his large hands in his lap. 

“Have you ever been kissed, Jyn?”

Jyn felt her color rise at the question.

“Yes, once. A Kyberi boy pushed me up against a rock and kissed me.”

“Was it pleasant?”  

“I broke his wrist.”

“Unpleasant for both of you, then,” said the Emperor, his eyes twinkling.

“Not entirely unpleasant for me,” said Jyn as she lifted her glass. “I needed the practice, and it was a very satisfying snap.”

“Didn’t you sense his intentions?” asked Krennic.

Jyn narrowed her eyes, then considered for a moment. It was a fair question.

“I did not. At the time, I didn’t realize I had to be careful.” She swirled the wine in her glass slightly. “I have learned since then.”

“Have you ever killed a man?”

“I know _you_ have,” Jyn said, and took a sip.

Krennics eyes darkened. “We do what we must.”

“Yes, we do.”

She took in his reaction. The slightly wounded look passing across his brow, the visible gathering of his resources of wit, all of which blew past with a quick, breezy grin.

He lifted his glass once more in a silent toast.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The servants were reluctant to leave Jyn alone for the second night in a row, but she sent them out anyway. She felt poked and prodded enough from the day of fittings, and hyper sensitive as we was to physical response, she always felt drained after too much contact.

She sat in her bath, hair piled on top of her head, and sponged the back of her neck. The water ran down her shoulders and she shivered a little as she remembered parting from Krennic after dinner.

 

The taste of wine had been on her lips as she stood and watched him approach her. He did not bow, but took her hand in his and held it, holding her gaze with it, and waited.

He was waiting for her to focus.

She withheld it from him.

He took a step nearer to her and she caught a thin tendril of his scent. Fresh, clean air off the tops of the hills.

She held fast, stubbornly.

“Goodnight, Jyn.” His voice rolled over her like low thunder.

“Goodnight.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and Jyn held her breath. She was fighting her curiosity, her desire, everything in her. She was fighting to prove to herself that she could withstand him.

He released her hand and Jyn exhaled, just catching the amused tilt of his head before she turned and followed the guard out of the dining room.

 

The water was growing cold, but Jyn felt flushed as she recalled his voice, the curve of his mouth, his scent. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, laying her forehead against her knees.

She imagined his fingertips sliding down the back of her neck.

Shaking the image out of her head, Jyn stood and pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall loose down her neck and shoulders. This was madness. She needed to ground herself.

She dried off and chose the most simple garment she could find; a cloud gray nightdress. She decided against shoes. She needed to feel the ground under her feet. 

Jyn carefully unlocked the silver door and tiptoed into the narrow hall between the two star chambers. With relief, she saw the Emperor’s chamber door was shut. She held a single taper in its holder, and hoped it would be enough to see by in the dark and unknown underground passage.

She found the circular glyph and pressed the inner carving, releasing the secret panel. Cool air drifted through and she could now recognize the odor from below as limestone, dampened and slightly chalky. She descended the marble staircase, approximating several flights in her mind; five, she would guess. The marble walls gave way to the expected limestone halfway down the stair. When she reached the bottom, her feet touched cold earth and a long darkness stretched out before her.

Jyn waited for a moment and absorbed the silence, the cool stillness, the embrace of the earth around her. Her Kyber crystal grew pregnant with energy as it recharged.

She took a deep breath and began the walk down the passage. She felt no fear, no haunted feeling, no claustrophobia, but she had a notion that the Sky Emperor probably did feel that way in such an enclosed, earth bound place.

Jyn felt an unexpected stab of pity at this thought.

Finally she reached another set of stairs that rose sharply and ended at a pinpoint of light above her. She climbed the stairs carefully, one hand holding the candle, the other holding up her skirts. At the top was a small landing and a marble wall with a carved panel, much like the one in the palace passage, only this one had a tiny peephole. Jyn peered through and could see an open, broad space of pale marble that flickered with torchlight. The inside of the garden temple.

Jyn set her candle in a little alcove carved into the side wall. She stood back and examined the panel before her, found the familiar repeated moon shape, and pressed the inner circle.

There was a click, but no movement, so Jyn touched the wall in front of her and pushed. It swung out slowly, heavy and creaking, and she stepped through the opening into the temple.

The inside was round, with a large five pointed star in solid silver embedded into the marble floor. Jyn looked up and saw a circular opening in the domed ceiling, and could make out shining star patterns against a pale blue painted background. There was little light coming through the oculus, as twilight was deepening, but there were five lit torches at the five star points within the temple.

Jyn turned around and pushed the panel closed, taking care to first locate the double moon glyph among the other carvings in the marble. She would further explore the small temple and its intricate carvings some other time. Right now, the garden called to her.

 

She padded across the floor in her bare feet and leapt over the silver star. She could feel her excitement building and she gathered up her skirts, hurrying out of the temple into the freshness of the open garden. Cold marble gave way to warm grass and Jyn broke into a run, smiling, panting, her lungs filling with vibrant air. The world sped by her in a blur of branches and blossoms. This wasn’t the wild, rocky grassland of her home, but it was earth and alive and enough.

She came to a little copse, thick with bluestar flowers, and halted. Her heart pounded in her chest and she pulled her skirts up past her knees, then knelt down on the ground. Jyn brushed aside dead and dry leaves, gently lifted the layer of moss underneath, and dug her fingers into the damp, black dirt. A feeling of euphoria washed over her, and she huffed out a smiling breath, then bent forward and breathed in the clean, rich smell of the earth. She wiggled her knees a bit and felt them dampen from the soil.

Was there any feeling comparable to this? This intense, intoxicating pleasure?

The memory of Emperor Krennic’s warm lips against her palm flashed through Jyn’s mind, but she stubbornly slammed the door of her awareness to it.

She rolled onto her side, careless of her nightdress, and curled up on the ground. The tepid twilight breeze turned chilly as night crept across the sky, and Jyn watched the shadows of trees lengthen and melt into one great darkness around her. She was tempted to simply fall asleep there, and let the palace guard come upon her at some ungodly hour, smudged with dirt and shivering and deliriously happy, but that would be more trouble than it was worth.

 _Besides_ , she thought as she sat up and brushed off her hands, _they’d probably take me for a vagrant and shoot me on sight_

Still she lingered, sitting calmly and listening while the night larks chirruped and burbled in the treetops. When they grew silent Jyn stood up and began her walk back toward the temple.

 

The palace lights glittered in the near distance, and Jyn suddenly had a childish urge to locate her chamber windows from the outside. She turned away from the temple, nestled in the woodland-banked lawns, and crossed into the more manicured gardens. Clipped hedgerows outlined narrow walkways that curved and twisted like vines, though their intended design was most likely the curl of wind stretched clouds. White blossoming trees were artfully placed, and their heavy, sweet fragrance mixed with the early blooming roses that climbed over the border walls.

There were curious torches along the walkways, burning blue fire. Jyn was mesmerized by them. She had only seen that flame color in rare flashes, within the depths of the hottest conflagrations, when her people would have their celebratory bonfires at the four points of the year. Blue like the sky.

Or his eyes.

Jyn turned from the fascinating color and silently chided herself. She approached the palace and could make out four guards posted near the back entrance. Broadening her focus, she felt the relaxed watchfulness of several more in the darkness along the palace wall. If she wanted to, she could discern exactly how many, but it would be an unnecessary waste of energy.

She looked up and quickly found her chamber windows, but her attention was immediately drawn to the dark silhouette in the window beside hers.

It was the Emperor. He was watching her.

Surprise and indignation rolled through Jyn’s stomach, and she had an urge to reach focus and discern his intentions, but she knew it would be useless. He was too physically distant from her. He stood, hands clasped in front of him, and remained still.

Jyn sensed a physical change in the air; a subtle tremor that seemed to pass overhead like a low flying bird. It pulsed beyond her into the distance until she could sense it no longer. 

A faint breeze rustled the treetops behind Jyn. Rushing closer, scattering white petals along the path, it teased her skirts and swooped upward, lifting her hair from her neck. Another gust brushed against the bare skin of her nape, as if in a caress, and Jyn couldn’t help but gasp and shiver in response. The breeze curled under her chin, and she lifted it slightly, closing her eyes and parting her lips, expecting…something…

The breeze died down and all was calm once again. Jyn opened her eyes and tried to gather her scattered thoughts, then looked to the windows once more. They were empty.

Jyn returned to the torchlit temple in a daze. She was relieved to find a stub of candle still burning in the alcove of the passage, and she took extra care to be quiet as she re-entered the narrow passageway between her room and the Emperor’s. His chamber door was shut, but Jyn knew he was within. She could feel his restlessness like a bird beating its wings against a cage.  
  
When she re-entered her own room, she set the candle down and drifted about for a few minutes, gathering herself. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she had felt disappointment at not finding the Emperor waiting for her in the passage.

Orson. He had wanted her to call him Orson.

Jyn poured water from the crystal ewer into a basin and washed her hands and feet. Needing a clean nightdress, she walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. Her gaze fell upon the lavish gown that she was to wear the next evening. It billowed out like cloud with layer upon layer of frothy white silk.

Jyn touched it lightly. Seeing her dirt smudged hand against the pristine fabric, remembering the feel of earth against her body, something within her twisted rebelliously. She walked over to the bell cord and pulled it.  A few moments later a palace servant appeared, and Jyn asked to speak with the head seamstress.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Jyn turned in front of the mirror and smoothed the skirts of the glittering black gown.

“What is your opinion, Moth?”

Jyn could see her handmaiden’s wary look reflected in the glass.

“It’s lovely, my lady. Though I must say it’s quite unconventional for an imperial ball of the Skies.”

“Yes, I expect it is,” replied Jyn. “But it suits me.”

“That’s what matters,” said Moth with a smile, and Jyn felt an urge to embrace her. Moth was really her only friend in this strange new world. Except perhaps...him.

“Please allow us to put your hair up, my lady,” said Moth.

“I shall leave it down, thank you,” said Jyn as she stepped away from the mirror. She drifted over  to her window and looked out over the gardens and the lawns beyond.

She had been able to take her breakfast in the garden that morning, but soon after, guests had begun to arrive and Jyn had been confined to her room. The ball was to be the great “unveiling” of the intended Bright Star, and it wouldn’t do for her to be seen wandering about the palace beforehand.

 

“Moth, you spoke before of the Emperor’s intellectual pursuits,” said Jyn, as she watched a group of sparrows flutter and squabble in the hedgerow. “What are his areas of interest?”

“He studies not only Sky magic, but the other elements as well. He’s particularly interested in Kyber lore, but he’s voracious for any type of knowledge. He spends hours in his study chambers and library.”

“Does he study herbology or Water alchemical writings?”

“I’m sorry, my lady. You will have to ask him that directly.”

Jyn was aware of the sullen look that crossed her face. She was also aware that it was because she felt nervous at the prospect of speaking intimately with Emperor Krennic.

 Better to focus on the matter at hand, this imperial ball nonsense.

 “Tell me again what I am to do at this…” Jyn waved a hand and shook her head slightly “...this affair.”

“The guests will gather in the Cloud Room-”

“I thought the ballroom was the Five Points Room?”

“The Five Points Room is the throne room, indicative of the five points of the Emperor’s five legions, the five points of his crown, which-”

“Which reflects the Star. Of course,” said Jyn with a frustrated sigh.

Moth nodded, and continued. “The guests will gather in the Cloud Room, which is the ballroom.”

Jyn gave Moth a wry smile.

“After the guests have gathered, the imperial guard will come and escort you to the Cloud Room. You will enter, the crowd will part, and you will cross the room to where the Emperor stands on the dais. You will kneel, and he will step down from the dais. He will take your hand, at which point you rise, and the Emperor will lead you to the center of the room where the dance will begin.”

Jyn was not thrilled at the prospect of having to lower herself to Emperor Krennic before a room full of haughty Skies and querulous Mustafarian Fires. The Kyberi had never gotten along with either.

She breathed in sharply, ready to protest, but Moth boldly spoke first.

“By stepping down from the dais and taking your hand, the Emperor is showing elemental leaders that you are his choice. It is an act of deference on his part.” Moth’s voice was kind, but firm.

Jyn turned to Moth and gave her a slow, grateful nod. If there was one trait the Earth and Fire people shared, it was candor.

“One more thing, my lady,” said Moth softly, her gray eyes darkening. “Be wary of Lord Tarkin. Be on guard. He is second only to Vader.”

Jyn’s stomach clenched. The Dark Father was a shadow of fear. A powerful magic wielder who had taken over the Fire tribes and turned a once bright and blazing people into a culture of smoke and ash.

“Is Vader expected to visit the palace in the future?”

“It’s very unlikely. He is loathe to leave Mustafar castle, which is why he has sent Tarkin as envoy.” Moth looked off to the side. “Vader is...unnatural.”

“How can the Emperor be allied with someone so horrific?”

“It’s an uneasy alliance at best, my lady, but better an uneasy alliance than bloodshed.”

“I can certainly understand that,” said Jyn glumly, turning back toward the window.

“Perhaps in time, your alliance will become more pleasurable.”

Jyn took in the pink flush of the sky as the last rays of the sun were pulled under the horizon.

“Perhaps.”  

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A five points imperial guard surrounded Jyn on her walk to the ballroom; one in front, and two on either side. As they crossed the Great Hall, Jyn could hear the murmur of many voices, like swarming bees. Anticipation and excitement flavored the air, but there was something discordant as well. Suspicion. Disapproval. Malice.

Jyn wasn’t surprised. The room was full of enemies.

She drew into herself, into the calming dark of her dress, and thought of home. The cool, shaded soil under the crag cliffs, the gentle slope of damp, green hills. The utter silence of the crystal mines where she could feel the pulse of the living earth.

 The front guard halted and turned, retreating to a new position behind Jyn, and she was left to face the crowd.

The room was a rippling sea of pale colors, upswept hair, and shocked faces. Several people gasped, their heads turning from side to side. Whispers hissed. Jyn stood still, but her gaze flickered rapidly across the crowd. Panic shot through her.

The crowd would not part.

She caught several piercing glances from blue and gray eyes, saw the downturned, petulant mouths. The whispering deepend from hisses to growls and she heard the word “black” spat out as if it were an expletive.

Her Kyber grew ice cold as Jyn drew further into herself. Guards behind and enemies in front. Where could she go?

The crowd would not part.

She breathed in and took a step forward. Two more steps. Airy skirts fluttered and throats cleared.

But still, the crowd would not part.

Jyn caught movement straight ahead and looked up, beyond the mob. It was him, the Emperor, and his face was tight with fury. He stepped forward, descended the dais, and at last the crowd moved aside. Jyn remained still and watched as heads bowed and guests stepped back. A pathway cleared before him as he took quick, angry strides toward Jyn, his gloved hands clenched, his eyes sharp with hatred as they roved over the crowd.

He reached Jyn at last and stopped. She lifted her eyes to his.

Instead of anger, she found tenderness.  

Jyn parted her lips, but before she could speak, the Emperor kneeled before her.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

Krennic held out his hand and looked up at Jyn. His blue eyes were wide, contrite, reverent.

She lay her hand in his and he held it for a moment, held her gaze with it, then stood and wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her against him, and Jyn felt the rest of the room dissolve and fall away from her.

Music began to play, but Jyn barely heard it, for Krennic was murmuring to her in his low, gentle voice.

“You look very beautiful.”

As he spoke, his chest vibrated against hers. She could smell him. Clean and warm and familiar.  

He began to lead her in a waltz and she followed, but as the other guests reluctantly joined in the dance and drew close, Jyn hesitated.

“Focus on me, Jyn,” he rumbled, and Jyn found the heat of his gaze again.

“We may at least enjoy ourselves, even if they choose not to,” he said with a wicked twitch of his mouth.  

“I meant only to be myself,” said Jyn, instantly frustrated with her lack of eloquence.

“I know what you meant,” he answered.

She settled into the dance, into his presence, and allowed the strange, slow, exhilaration to build within her. Her Kyber glowed with delight.

“My crystal is fond of you,” she said suddenly, and Krennic tilted his head, his eyes bright with interest.

“Are they sentient?”

“Not exactly. But they can form...attachments.”

“Is that so?” he said, and brought his hand to her Kyber. He touched it lightly.

“Take off your glove,” said Jyn. Her voice was far more breathless, far more eager than she would have liked.

“If I touch it with my bare hand, I will be able to sense what you’re feeling?” he asked.

“Only physically.”

“Physical response can reveal much deeper meaning to those who pay attention.”

Jyn smiled, then saw Krennic’s gaze flicker to her mouth. She pursed her lips, self conscious about her prominent front teeth.

“You’re a quick study,” she said finally.

Any semblance of a waltz was now lost, and they merely swayed a little to the music, intent on each other.

“I don’t think I will touch it just now,” said Krennic. “I think you should tell me what you’re feeling instead.”

“I thought Kyber lore interested you.”

“You’re a dark, sullen little thing with a bright name,” he said intently. “ _You_ interest me.”

All at once Jyn felt guarded. His cleverness was too dazzling, his charm too penetrative. She drew back slightly, but Krennic held strong, splaying his large fingers across her lower back and taking up her hand. With a sly, sideways grin he stepped back into the formal waltz.

“What you did last night, in the garden,” said Jyn cautiously.

Krennic’s thumb gently stroked her back and she shivered in response.  

“Would you...show me again sometime?”

He held her gaze and nodded slightly, drawing in his lower lip. She caught a glimpse of his tongue as he licked it, and her own lips parted as she focused.

_Heat. A growing, stretching hardness, straining against fabric. Pulse quickening. Bloodrush._

“Tell me when, little one,” he murmured. “Command me.”

Jyn’s senses were reeling, her mind chaotic. Krennic smiled lazily and drew away from her. Only then did she realize the waltz had ended.

She curtseyed to the Emperor and he bowed; the current of excitement between them still palpable.

Now Jyn would have to dance with the guests. Thrown to the wolves.

 

The lords probably thought Jyn intolerably rude. She had no eloquence, no tolerance for artful smiles and bright, blustery small talk.

She was, as the Emperor had said, dark and sullen.

More so now, as she watched him dance with the high ladies of the Skies. They wore their flaxen hair piled high and abundantly curled and their gowns were voluminous swirls of pale blue and sunrise yellow. Krennic would say something undoubtedly clever through a wide, gleaming smile and they would break into fits of effervescent laughter.

They touched his chest and arms with long fingers. Jyn’s hands were small and strong.

They spoke to him rapidly and eagerly while Jyn observed in silence.

They would counter his words with a teasing sparkle in their eyes instead of absorbing his voice and letting it penetrate under the skin to soak the core.

After a few minutes, Jyn’s dance partner would give up on speaking to her about palace intrigues or weather patterns, and she would be free to focus on the Emperor’s response to these women. All she could sense was the slight increase in heart rate from the dance, and a bit of tension across the shoulders.

_Annoyance. Impatience._

The discovery flooded her with surprising, disquieting relief.

 

Supper was announced, and Jyn curtseyed quickly to her partner, then retreated across the ballroom. Terrible manners, she knew, but she was thoroughly finished with feeling the touch of strangers. Her skin prickled all over and her Kyber felt like a shard of ice.

She got caught within the crowd and stalled, then looked about wildly for a means of escape. Suddenly a large hand wrapped around her waist. She didn’t need to turn and see who it was. A soothing, languid warmth spread through her body and her crystal thawed.

“Hungry, are you?” asked the Emperor.

Jyn thought of the dazzling smiles and pretty laughter, but all she could manage was a nod.

 

She took her place next to the Emperor at the head table in the Great Dining Hall; the lower tables arranged in a semi circle to allow for a dramatic presentation of each dish before serving.

Jyn was relieved to finally sit, but Krennic shifted and fidgeted in his chair. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, brushed his fingers against his lips, and impatiently gestured his approval as each new course was presented.

A Grand Duke with an impressive white beard was monopolizing The Emperor with matters of state, so Jyn ate and observed the guests. There was one, seated at a nearby table, who was unfamiliar to her. In fact, she did not recall seeing him at all that evening. He was aged, though probably quite handsome in his youth. His face was all cliffs and hollows, skull-like, and his eyes gleamed. He did not touch the food, but merely sat and sipped the wine. His demeanor was strange; elegant but somehow perverse, as if he were savoring the energy in the room rather than his drink.

Jyn leaned toward the Emperor and he immediately held up a hand to silence the duke. He turned his attention to her, his eyes bright.

“Who is that man?” she asked, “The sharp one, in the gray uniform.”

Krennic followed her gaze and cleared his throat.

“Lord Tarkin of Mustafar. An unpleasant guest, but necessary.”

“I wonder at how you can ally yourself with such dreadful people,” said Jyn with a shudder.  

The smile that crossed Krennic’s lips was almost sad. “There are many in this room asking the same question about my alliance with you.”

Jyn hesitated for a moment, trying to not feel wounded by his words and failing miserably.

She focused in desperation, and felt the tight curl of remorse in his solar plexus, the pang of guilt, the urge to reach for her…

She broke focus and turned to look stubbornly straight ahead at the grand dish being presented before them. The head chef himself lifted the silver dome with a flourish, and before Jyn could discern what the heavily sauced, reddish mass was, the Emperor stood up and roared.

“ _You dare_?”

The great room was silenced instantly. Heads twitched and cocked in confusion, jewels trembling, pale eyes wide.

The platter began to shake as the two bearers of the dish backed up, their faces white with terror.

“You serve my intended, Jyn Erso of the Kyberi Earth tribe, _the carcass of a deer_?”

Krennic’s face was contorted into a dark snarl and his speech betrayed traces of a lisp.

“It...it’s venison, your highness…” stammered the chef as he fell to his knees.

“ _The deer is sacred to her people, you_ _wretched imbecile_!”

The Emperor thrust out a hand and seemed to clutch an invisible rope in his fist. The silver dome dropped to the floor with a deafening clatter.

Jyn felt the air shift and pull, funneling toward the Emperor with deliberate force.

Clutching his throat with both hands, the chef pitched forward, his mouth gaping.

Jyn bolted to her feet. The Emperor was pulling the very breath from the man’s lungs.

She drew close to the Emperor and laid her hand on his arm.

“My lord.”

The air contracted slightly.

Jyn pressed herself to him, her breasts against his arm, and kept her voice low and soft.

“Orson.”

He turned and met her eyes. His face was creased, shadowed, and the tips of his ears were flushed in anger.

“Leave him to me.”

Krennic breathed in sharply, then set his jaw. With his eyes still locked on Jyn, he released his grip.

The now blue-faced chef fell to his side and heaved in great, choking gulps of air. Jyn let her hand slide down the Emperor’s arm, then she stepped around the table and approached the terrified man.

“You are no hunter,” she said neutrally, looking down at him, and the chef shook his head and sputtered in lieu of speech.

“Who killed the deer?”

“I do not...know my lady...it was presented as a gift along with many others from your noble guests. It was thoroughly tasted, my lady! There was no poison!”

Jyn pressed her lips together in disgust at the idea of the deer being eaten. To her, it was akin to cannibalism. If such a “gift” were given purposefully, it could only be taken as a direct threat to her.

It would be physically exhausting, but she had to do a sensory sweep of the entire room.

Turning to look behind her, she locked eyes with the Emperor. She found tenderness and concern in his face. Something else, as well. Keen interest.

She turned back to the guests and her Kyber flared to life as she expanded focus. She could hear startled gasps and excited murmurs from the crowd, briefly, then sound was lost as she was flooded with sensation.

_Heart rate rapid. Chilled hands. Stomach tight but indigestion not fear. Fluttering excitement. Dull headache. Dizzy too much wine. Throat tight. Envy? Yes. One of the high ladies desiring the Emperor. Sore back. Shivers of fear. Tired. Sharp pain behind knee, vulnerable. Fascination. Dizziness another drunkard. Fire. Calm fire. Hatred. Smugness. Held like smoldering coals in the chest. Fire. Triumph._

Jyn’s eyes opened and landed on the source. Lord Tarkin sat calmly and curled his lips into a slow, satisfied smile.

Jyn’s crystal darkened and she reached back toward the Emperor, who fairly flew to her side. His cape seemed to envelop her along with his arms and she let herself collapse into him, feeling lifted, held, the warm skin of his neck against her lips.

“Tarkin,” she whispered, and breathed in Orson’s scent before going limp.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter is the wedding...and the wedding night ;)  
> Thanks for being so patient <3


	4. Chapter 4

The air was fresh and sweet, and there was a soft breeze caressing Jyn’s cheek as she stirred, blinking, catching glimpses of a starry night sky.

She was lying on her back on bare ground. She was home.  

Her hands flexed and her fingertips rubbed into the soil, pressing downward as if taking root. She felt her strength build and exhaustion melt away into the dirt.

The breeze feathered across her lips. She licked them, wanting to feel it more intensely, and it rushed cool over the wetness before lifting away.

She opened her eyes fully and saw Orson kneeling beside her. He was crowned with stars.

“Jyn,” he said gently, “you are in the garden. I have brought you here. Tell me what you need. Tell me-”

Jyn lifted a hand to touch his cheek, and he took it in his and pressed his lips against her palm.

“You have done right,” she said.

Torchlight flickered across his lined face. He smiled, boyishly pleased with himself, and gave Jyn’s hand a little squeeze.

She began to rise, and Orson quickly slid his other hand under her head, helping to lift her.

“I’m alright,” she said, but held his hand tightly to steady herself as she sat up and looked around. She was on the lawn near the edge of a torch-lined path. The nearby palace windows glowed and cast streaks of light across the grass.  

Jyn felt a fleeting swirl of dizziness and looked down, then saw she was blanketed by the Emperor’s cape. She couldn’t help but exhale a soft laugh.

“Did you mean for me to sleep out here?”

“I- you were so cold, Jyn. Your pulse slowed significantly and you were so cold...” he looked down, tilted his head, and cleared his throat.

Jyn slowly pulled down the cape, revealing her refreshed, glinting Kyber. The Emperor’s eyes alighted on it for a moment, then lifted to hers.  
“And now?” said Jyn.

Orson’s gaze was intense under a hard brow. He brought his hand to her neck and laid his fingers against her strong, steady pulse. When he pressed his thumb against her throat as well, Jyn breathed in and shivered, her pulse quickening.

“Tell me what you feel, Jyn.”

Jyn closed her eyes, upper lids trembling, and focused.

“I feel your desire. A growing hardness that becomes...almost painful. Stretching out to me, reaching toward me...but I cannot...” Jyn shook her head a little and squeezed her legs together. “It’s becoming difficult to discern between-”

“Between my desire and yours?”

Jyn’s answer was a heavy exhale. She felt Orson draw closer, his breath mingling with hers. Jyn breathed in and picked up the depths of his scent. Beyond the clean, wind-tossed grasses and sunlight into something darker and richer. His hidden, primitive self.

Orson’s warm hand contracted gently against Jyn’s throat. “Open that sullen little mouth of yours,” he hummed against her lips.

Jyn parted her lips and he kissed her, capturing her bottom lip and sucking in, and Jyn felt the ache between her legs pulse and radiate out like a forced bloom.

She pressed closer to him, her fingers touching the stiff edge of his collar, searching, then finding the softness of his hair at the nape of his neck. She sucked at his upper lip and he responded with a scrape of his teeth against her lower lip.

Jyn made pleading, vulnerable sounds in the back of her throat, sounds she never thought herself capable of. She wanted his broad, heavy hands on her flesh, she wanted to lie beneath him. For the first time in her life, she wanted to be conquered.

Her fingers curled into his hair and tugged, and Orson growled and thrust his tongue against hers. Her crystal hummed, her whole body hummed, the blood in her veins lit up like a seam of gold ore.

She felt his large, warm hand touch her Kyber, and he broke away, eyes closed, his lower lip swollen and shining.

“You are fond of me, aren’t you, little one?” he breathed, then sought her lips again, but Jyn pulled back as the sound of chatter spilled out from the open palace doors.

“Your guests are growing restless,” said Jyn in a low voice.

Orson turned and saw the sweep of broad skirts, the cocked heads, the mincing walks, and he set his jaw and wiped his lips with his fingers.

“Storms take them,” he muttered, then turned back to Jyn with a faint smile. “Though they are probably wondering if my bride to be is still alive.”

Jyn pressed her lips together and nodded, then stood up, Orson rising with her.

He encircled her waist with his hand and she looked up, her gaze resting on his mouth.

She was deeply, painfully disappointed.

“If you wish to escape from our guests, I will see you back to your chambers. I shall triple your guard tonight. I will not take any chances,” he said.

Jyn met his eyes. “First I must see the body.”

Orson paused, then drew his brows together in confusion.

“The body?”

“Lord Tarkin’s body. I require a measure of his blood to offer up to the Earth as recompense.”

Orson’s mouth opened, then shut again. His head twisted as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Jyn… I cannot just… _kill_ Lord Tarkin.”

Jyn’s eyes narrowed..

“What do you mean you cannot kill him?”

Orson’s eyes were intense upon Jyn, but he was silent.

Jyn felt her crystal blaze as anger ignited within her. “I see. You would kill an innocent commoner, a servant. But a guilty highborn? Certainly not.”

Orson drew in his lips, preparing to argue, then flashed a look at the approaching guests. When he turned back to Jyn, his eyes were piercing. “This is not the time, Jyn. I will explain all to you and you will understand, but-”

Jyn picked up her skirts and spoke calmly.

“I do understand, Your Highness.”

“Gods, Jyn, it’s like speaking to a stone when you’re like this!”

“Attend to your illustrious guests,” she said, and walked toward the palace.

 

In her room, with six Imperial guards stationed outside her door, the gardens full of wandering guests, and her own cyclonic thoughts, Jyn felt thoroughly imprisoned.

She was to be married the next day and crowned Empress. Jyn Erso of the Kyberi would be declared the Bright Star and rule over a people that despised her.  

Jyn lowered herself to the floor and found no comfort. No soil, no cool, soft grass. She did not dare use the secret passage; she had a feeling that the Emperor would intercept her and attempt some sort of reconciliation.

She could have reached focus to sense his presence, but she did not. Instead, she drew into herself and struggled to not lick her lips, not swirl the lingering taste of him around in her mouth, not remember the feel of his warm hand against her neck.

Frustrated tears welled up but she wiped them away quickly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. If Krennic would not mete out justice, she would. She would just have to wait for the right moment. She might have to wait weeks or months or years, but she would repay the earth in blood for what Tarkin had done.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The wine bearer paused and backed up, giving Jyn a worried look. Jyn remained still, her hand covering the rim of her glass.

From the corner of her vision, she could see the Emperor tense and swipe his thumb against his bottom lip. He leaned close and spoke in a tight murmur.

“One sip for the marriage toast, if you please.”

Jyn ignored the fluttering feeling in her chest at the sound of his voice. She removed her hand reluctantly and watched the servant pour, watched the pale liquid effervesce in the glass, then she sat up straight as the toast was announced.

The guests rose and lifted their glasses.

“All hail the High and Bright Stars!”

Jyn thought of the western slope behind the keep, how richly green it was in spring, with its covering of little waving moss flowers.

“All hail the rulers of the celestial children!”

The craig rocks slick with rain and the clean, living smell of black soil.

“May their love outshine the constellations!”

_He lies over her, his hand on her throat. There’s no fear, but there is pain. The pain of a tight bud about to burst into bloom._

Jyn’s breath hitched and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them a moment later, the guests were drinking from their glasses. She glanced at the Emperor, and met his eyes for the first time since they had taken their vows. They had been coldly, beautifully blue in the open light of the Five Points Room, but now they were overcast. As deep and shadowy as a stormcloud.

He lifted his wineglass and drank, his eyes fixed on her.

He set the empty glass down. Hearty shouts and hurrahs erupted from the guests.

Jyn brought her own glass to her lips and sipped. She moved to set her glass down, but Orson caught it in his gloved hand and lifted it from Jyn’s grasp.

His eyes shifted to silver grey as he turned the glass and found the place where Jyn’s lips had rested.

Her pendant flickered.

He put his lips on the rim and touched it with his tongue, his eyes penetrating her. He tilted back and swallowed her wine, turned his eyes away, and set the empty glass down with a thump.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Jyn stood on footstool and tried to hold still while her handmaids labored over her elaborate white gown. It was taking her longer to get out of the damned thing than it took for her to get into it. The Star Crown had been dutifully taken away to be kept safe within the vault, and Jyn had pulled the pins out of her upswept hair almost immediately, letting it fall loose and wild over her shoulders. Finally the gown was unfastened, and she stepped down from the footstool while her handmaids lifted the mass of frills up over her head.

Jyn almost laughed as she ducked under the ridiculous skirts. She felt rather victorious. She had managed to escape the reception before the endless procession of well wishing guests. Tarkin had been creeping about the edges of her awareness the whole evening, and she had no desire to see his sly, cruel smile or feel the wraith-like touch of his hand.

Moth waved away the handmaidens and approached Jyn, now clad in her thin underdress and corset. She was picking at the laces, her lower lip pouted out in frustration.

“Allow me, Your Highness,” said Moth.

“I wish you could call me Jyn.”

Moth smiled and began to undo Jyn’s laces.

“My lady.”

Jyn smiled at Moth through the mirror.

“That’s at least a little better.”

Moth continued to work quietly, but Jyn could tell there was something she wanted to say.

“What is it, Moth?”

“My lady…” Moth opened the corset like wings and removed it from Jyn, who breathed in deeply. “Do you require any… advice? About this night?”

Jyn felt heat climb up her cheeks.

“I know what goes on between men and women,” she said softly.

Moth nodded, her expression full of sympathy.

“My lady, I am to remove the lock on the silver door before I leave you.”

Jyn took a deep breath.

“I understand.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


Jyn walked around her room, chewing on her bottom lip and rolling her Kyber between her fingers. She had changed into the elaborate nightdress provided for her first night as Empress, and it flowed and fluttered behind her as she paced.

Surely the Emperor had left the guests to their own revelry by now?

Jyn shook her head.

What did it matter? Let him stay downstairs all night with his sycophants.

She stopped and stared out the windows. Beyond the torchlit garden, beyond the lawns, was the soft darkness of the forest.

 

She did not bother to light a candle.

 

The forest energy was thrumming with spring life. Waxy starflowers that gave off a heady, sharp scent, clumps of nest root, and all manner of saplings standing defiantly amongst their fallen ancestors, now damp and covered in lichen.

Jyn stopped near a massive oak tree, the ground thickly covered in avialis, which her people called feather moss. She touched the tree in greeting, then sat down on the soft, pliant ground. Looking up through the canopy, she could see the crescent moon and its companion star, Skywalker. Both shone brilliantly in the clear midnight sky and lit up the forest, causing the trees to cast long, blueish shadows.

Jyn closed her eyes and tried to center herself, but something prevented her. There was a restlessness within her, but also in the air.

Her Kyber warmed.

_In the air…_

Jyn stood up and listened. Someone was approaching with quick, purposeful strides, sticks snapping under their feet.

_Hard soles. Boots._

She saw a blur of white through the trees and squinted, then focused outward, like stretching out a hand a dark room.

_Arm stinging, scratched by brambles. Tightness in the chest. Frustration. Solar plexus twisting like a storm._

_Worry. Intense worry._

Her Kyber flickered as Orson emerged from the darkness.

He was wearing his black jodhpurs and boots, but instead of his tunic he wore a loose white shirt. A nightshirt. His hair was ruffled and he was breathing heavily.

He stood up straight and stiff, and even in the filtered moonlight Jyn could see his jaw clench.

“Come back to the palace at once, Jyn.”

His voice sounded strange against the night softness of the woods. Demanding and discordant.

And yet… it excited her. As if he touched the center of her with rough, strong fingers.

She became aware of her senses, taut, anticipatory, heightened by the forest and its abundance of life.

_Or because of him..._

Orson took a few steps closer.

“Enough of this nonsense, you are my wife and I demand that you return with me to our chambers.”

Jyn felt her stubbornness take root.

“I will return when I am quite ready.”

Orson held still in disbelief.

Jyn looked around with deliberate casualness.

“Perhaps I’ll sleep out here tonight.” She met eyes again. “Perhaps every night.”

Orson clenched his fists and cocked his head. His eyes were strikingly pale. Volatile. His mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Because I would not spill blood for you.”

“It was a betrayal!”

“ _It was diplomacy!_ ” he bellowed, his fist striking downward as if pounding an invisible surface.

Jyn stood her ground, prepared to weather the oncoming storm.

“You know _nothing_ of such things, Earth child” the Emperor snarled, “your people hide away in their stone keeps and caves, accepting no foreigners, no refugees. Stubborn isolationists! _Refusing_ to share your knowledge!”

“You captured an elder, my father, to force him to share our lore with you. Very diplomatic indeed!”

Orson took another step toward Jyn, and she backed up, her pendant flashing a warning.

He stopped, considered for a moment, then cocked his head and licked his lower lip.

“How long, do you think, would your people withstand a direct attack by Fire?”

“In our own lands we can withstand anything,” said Jyn proudly.

“So you retreat into your caves after your Earth has been scorched, everything living consumed by flame — your crops, your ancient trees-”

Jyn felt a stab of pain at the thought.

“You huddle in your caverns with little to eat, and only the close, toxic air to breathe...and then what? Where are your allies to help you when you have _no alliances_?”

“The earth is my ally!”

“Earth can burn, Jyn. Even rock can burn and turn into a river of fire. I have been to the lands of Mustafar. Nothing can live in such a place except ambition and destruction.”

He approached her again, his hand now open and held out to her.

Anger sat heavy like a rock in her chest.

“You wish to know Earth secrets, do you?” she said, and opened her hands, palms forward, fingers pointed at the ground. Her Kyber blazed, and the Emperor halted with cry of surprise and outrage.

Hundreds of thin, strong, tenuous roots burst forth from the ground and wrapped themselves around the Emperor’s boots. He growled and struggled, and Jyn leisurely approached him with a smug smile.

Suddenly a blast of wind rushed at Jyn, making her eyes water and squeeze shut. She squeaked and covered her eyes, her focus broken, roots snapping. Wiping away the tears with the backs of her hands, she looked up just as Orson’s arms closed around her.

He bound her tightly, Jyn’s arms folded up against her breasts, her hands splayed upward like wings under her chin. She tensed, preparing to fight, but his lips pressed against her fluttering eyelids.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as he kissed her repeatedly. Soft, pattering rain kisses against her closed eyes.

Jyn made a little sound of protest, then breathed in. His scent was all around her, enriched by excitement, and she felt a pulse of desire between her legs. She tilted her head, wanting to kiss him, but he lowered his mouth to her neck and scraped his teeth against her skin, then sucked in, tasting her flesh, while Jyn shivered against him. He drew back just enough, freeing Jyn’s arms, and she cupped his face in her hands, seeking his mouth. He knelt down and she followed, Orson’s huge, warm hand cradling the back of her head.

He pressed her down, covered her, and Jyn lay back against the softness of the forest floor, still holding onto him, still searching out his lips.

She felt hungry, dazed, desperate, and when he finally brought his lips down upon hers she responded violently, finding his lower lip and sucking hard, then pulling back and kissing his top lip so he could tug at her lower lip and strike his tongue against hers. He tasted clean and complex, and Jyn thought of the brightness of his eyes as he kissed her. The ache between her legs intensified, and she heard herself making little pleading sounds as she pressed her hips upward against Orson’s body.  

He broke the kiss and reached down, pulling up the hem of her nightdress. He moved to his side to raise up her skirts fully.

Jyn pressed kisses against his neck, her tongue touching his skin. He tasted like sunlight and salt and night air. She felt his heavy, cool hand against her inner thigh and gasped.

He responded with a low hum against her ear.

“I wanted to take my time with you. I wanted to be gentle and slow and watch every expression...”

Orson’s fingers swept up her thigh and Jyn squeezed her legs together, trying to find relief.

“When I have you in my bed, I’ll make a feast of you. But tonight, in this wild place...I cannot wait. I want you too much.”

Jyn whimpered and threaded her fingers into his hair.

“Open your legs, Empress.”

She parted her thighs slightly and Orson breathed out a chuckle.

“Wider, Jyn. Plant your feet on the ground and open your legs for your husband.”

She obeyed, feeling her cheeks flush with heat, then gasped as his fingers touched her sex. He stroked her soft layers lightly, then parted them with his large finger, finding the source of her heat. He dipped into her wetness and Jyn clutched at his arm, her ache and delight intertwined, her Kyber illuminating her skin. Orson turned his face to hers and Jyn parted her lips, feeling his hot breath against her mouth, barely registering his words as he spoke against her lips.

“You’re glowing, Bright Star.”

His finger pressed upward, stroked her swollen clit, and Jyn felt pleasure streak through her like lightning. She cried out and arched her back, digging her fingers into Orson’s arm. He made slow circles, pressing hard, and Jyn began to tug at him, wanting more.

He withdrew his hand from her and Jyn felt him unfasten his pants, then felt something flushed with heat and solid against her bare thigh.

“Orson…” she whispered, tugging him toward her again, and he covered her with his broad, warm body. He reached down between their bodies and Jyn lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. Orson’s heart pounded against hers and she licked her lips and trembled with anticipation.

He nudged her sex, then slid his cock along her slick heat and pressed into her opening, the ridge of the head stretching her. Jyn’s breath caught in her throat and she held still, squeezing her eyes shut.

Orson’s voice hummed against her.

“There will be pain. Focus on me instead.”

Jyn nodded, her eyes still closed, and focused.

He drove into her, and the sharp sting Jyn felt was instantly eclipsed by rush of pleasure that came from Orson. A tight, hot embrace, a welling up of tension held under vicious control, a wave of something infinitely sweeter, more aching, more desperate than the physical joy he felt.

He began to move, withdrawing and returning with deliberate slowness, and Jyn’s focus dissolved along with any trace of pain. All she could feel now was her own pleasure building, clutching at the Emperor, while he stroked new, hidden places deep within her.

A tense, vibrating heat began to build between them. It radiated out, then retreated back to its core where it intensified. Orson’s huge hand encircled Jyn’s wrists, squeezed, then pushed her arms to the ground over her head. His mouth grazed the side of her neck, then his teeth, his chest vibrating against hers with his growls.

He thrust into her harder, and she cried out, her sex gripping his pulsing cock, waves of release breaking over her as she clenched and gasped and saw a storm of stars.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Freckles were loved by the Skies, as they were symbolic of the constellations. When children grew up, their stars usually faded away, their idealism, imagination, and vigor fading with them.

The Emperor had an abundance of freckles. They covered his nose and cheeks, then spread down the sides of his neck. Even his lips bore stars.

 

In the night dimmed grandeur of his bedchamber, he had lain next to Jyn, touched her crystal with careful fingers, and felt her soreness.

“We’ll only sleep,” he had said, and pulled her against him, his arms and scent enclosing her as he curled around her back.

Sometimes he buried his face in her hair until his lips touched her neck. Sometimes he would rock a little against her, his excitement hard against her bottom, then going soft as he drifted back into sleep.

Jyn had lain awake with her fevered thoughts, her own desire ebbing and flowing as she replayed their lovemaking in her mind. She never thought it would be like that. Pleasure surpassing all other physical sensation. Pleasure so consuming it felt like madness.

She had lain awake until exhaustion had overtaken her thoughts, then slipped under and wandered through starlit dreams. She woke early to a sleep-warmed, freckled and pliant husband whom she wanted very much to kiss, but instead she watched him sleep.

 

She wondered if loving him would be a betrayal to her people.

 

Jyn woke again to the sound of rain. She found herself alone in the massive bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. She rubbed her eyes against the glare, puzzled, and listened to the patter of falling water. After a few moments, she rose from the bed and walked barefoot across the shining floor, following the sound. It was coming from the washroom.

 

Through a cloud of steam she could see Orson, stark naked, in a glass-enclosed marble chamber. Water was pouring out of what looked like the center of a sunflower, though it was made of shining metal. Jyn took a few steps forward, fascinated by this rain making device, and Orson smoothed back his wet hair and wiped his eyes, then stopped as he saw Jyn.

 

“Jyn, come see!” he called out, and beckoned to her with a wave of his hand.

 

Jyn stepped closer to the chamber until she was just outside the glass door, but found herself looking at her husband instead of the rain maker. He was lean and strong, and his wet hair brought out the thickness of his neck. Back home, she had hidden behind an oak and peeked at some of the men undressing to bathe in Eadu Lake. Though her husband was not as broad as Kyberi men, he was _considerably_ larger in other areas, even in his relaxed state.

 

Blushing despite herself, Jyn turned her back to him, then felt a plume of steam against her cheek as Orson opened the glass door to the chamber. She glanced at him briefly, catching a flash of blue and a lined brow before he spoke.

“You can’t wash with your nightdress on. Get it off and come in here.”

 _Click_ went the door.

Jyn stood for a moment, then slowly untied the ribbon around the low neckline.

 _Click_. Another rush of steam.

“If you don’t get in here, I’ll carry you in, clothes and all.”

“I’m undressing, you impatient child!”

Orson rasped out a chuckle before retreating.

“Turn your back,” called Jyn over her shoulder.

“Pardon?”

“Turn-”

“I cannot _hear_ you, my lady.”

Jyn mumbled a curse as she slid her nightdress down, first one shoulder, then the other. She held it over her breasts for a moment, then took a deep breath and let her arms fall to her sides, her nightdress falling to the floor.

 

She opened the glass door and stepped into the chamber, keeping her eyes lowered, her arms once again shielding her breasts as she stepped across wet marble. Orson stood under the water, then circled around to stand behind Jyn as she approached. He slid a large hand down her upper arm until he cupped her elbow. Lifting it slightly, Jyn remained covered by one arm as she extended the other to touch the water. It splashed hot against her palm, and she shivered and smiled, then heard Orson’s low chuckle behind her. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Turn around, Jyn.”

 She trembled again, this time from anticipation, and slowly turned and faced her husband.

His eyes were too alert, too piercing. It was as if he were already touching her between her legs. She blinked and averted her gaze, but still saw the slight tilt of his head and the wide, thin smile. He stepped close and she could feel his cock press up against her. Huge and hard. Hotter even than the water. The tips of her breasts rubbed against him and tightened.

She felt a languid, sensual shift in her awareness, and she relaxed her arms and let him encircle her with his.

“Back up a little,” he murmured, and her Kyber flickered in response.

Jyn took a step back, still in Orson’s arms, and another, feeling the water patter against the  slope of her lower back.

“That’s it, keep going,” he hummed against her, then slid a large hand up the back of her neck. Jyn clutched at his arms, then closed her eyes as his thick fingers splayed and curled into her hair. He lifted her hair until it touched the water.

“One more,” he said, breathless.

Jyn took one more step and felt the water saturate her hair, then cascade down her body. She breathed in sharply, heat spreading from the water and her own desire. Orson held her there for a moment, one hand firm against the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head. Jyn felt as the earth must feel during a rainstorm. Held by the sky. Loved.  

Orson circled his fingertips against her scalp and Jyn squeezed her thighs together against the ache. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, lips parted, expectant. His hand slid down her neck, fingers light against her skin like the streaming water, down and over her delicate collarbone, down the smooth expanse of her chest to the swell of her breast.

His gaze lowered as his fingers brushed against her flushed, tight nipple and Jyn felt a surge of pleasure. She began to make pleading little gasps and rub against him impatiently.  

A rivulet of water trailed down her breast and Orson bent down and took her nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked at her, swallowing the water, and Jyn whimpered and clutched at his wet hair. He grazed the hard tip of her nipple with his teeth, his tongue lapping at her while he sucked harder and made low, hungry sounds in the back of his throat.

The desperate need to ease the ache was overwhelming.

“Please…” Jyn whimpered, “Please.”

Orson released her nipple and stood up, lips wet, eyes silvery and scorching.

“You are Empress,” he growled. “You do not beg.”

Jyn felt his hand slide between their bodies, his fingers touching the hair between her legs.

“You command.”

She parted her thighs and lifted one leg, wrapping it around his.

“Touch me,” she murmured.

The Emperor’s eyebrows twitched upward, his mouth a hard line.

Jyn licked her lips.

“Touch me between my legs.”

Orson smiled and lifted his chin slightly. His fingers slid down and found the hot, parted layers of her sex, touched the silky wetness that was so different from the water, and Jyn bit her bottom lip and moved her hips, desperate to lure him deeper. Orson traced upward with his large finger, spreading her wetness to her clit where he circled it firmly. Jyn made a tense, fluttering moan and nipped at his skin, tasting water and heat. He stroked faster, harder, and Jyn’s knees began to feel weak. She clung to her husband, pressing close, trying to find stability.

 Her crystal touched Orson’s chest and he gasped as Jyn’s response coursed through him, drawing his cock fuller and tighter. It was as if she had reached out and grasped his hand, pulling him to the edge with her, ready to plunge into the abyss while he could only helplessly follow. She was moaning, rolling her forehead against his chest and rubbing against his hand shamelessly. He thrust two thick fingers inside her heat and pressed his thumb against her clit and Jyn cried out, waves of release breaking over her while she clenched around him.

Her response held Orson in it’s grip, and it was merciless. He felt the wild clutching, the tense, acute pleasure that unraveled only to tighten again, and he came with her, his cock pulsing out streams of white against Jyn’s skin as he moaned and felt her liquid warmth spill over his fingers.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They were both ravenously hungry, so the Emperor called for breakfast in his chambers.

Jyn sat cross-legged on the bed, wrapped in a sheet, and held onto a puffy sweet bun with both hands, taking huge bites and chewing with gusto. Orson, now dressed in his usual white tunic and jodhpurs, remained standing as he ate his toast and drank his tea.

There was a steaming mug on the tray, and Jyn looked at it curiously, then smelled the unmistakable odor of blackroot infusion. Dark, rich and bitter. She stopped mid-chew and looked at Orson with wonder.

He finished his bite and took a sip of tea, his eyes sparkling.

“That’s what your people drink at breakfast, is it not?” he said as he set down his cup.

Jyn slid over to the tray and set down her bun, then licked her fingers. She heard Orson’s low chuckle but ignored it and picked up the mug.

Resting her lips against the rim, she breathed in with reverence. Her eyes filled with tears. She tipped the mug and let the brew just touch her lips, then she set the mug down and covered her stinging eyes.

“Jyn, what is it?” Orson’s voice was gentle.

“It’s home,” was her muffled answer. She took a moment, wiped her eyes and faced him. The vertical line between his brows was deep with concern.

“It reminds me of home,” she said, her voice heavy and somber.  

The Emperor wiped his lips with the back of his hand, cleared his throat, and set his tea down on the tray.

Jyn watched him as he crossed the room, picked up his gloves from the quartz topped dresser, and pulled them on. He stretched out his fingers, making the leather creak softly. His face was darkened and deeply lined.  

“Most of the wedding guests have departed, but a few remain to discuss matters of state. Once I have met with them perhaps you and I could…” He cleared his throat again, then turned to face Jyn. “There are many things I wish to learn about your home. Blackcraig, the crystal mines, the lore of your people...I do hope that, one day, we may come to an understanding as to how our alliance can keep both our realms safe.”

 Jyn tilted her head. The Emperor’s tone was strange and stiff. The formality of it irritated her. She knew this was a marriage of convenience, but somehow being directly reminded of that was upsetting.

Perhaps it was because she sat on her husband’s bed, wrapped in bedclothes that were drenched with the scents of sleep and desire. Perhaps it was because, from the very beginning, her Kyber stirred whenever he drew closer to her, then dimmed as he stepped away.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Something simple, Moth. I’ll be in the gardens for most of the day.”

Moth returned the beaded gown to the wardrobe and took out a plain, high waisted dress of white silk.

“Will this do, my lady?”

“Yes, although I wonder how you can distinguish the nightgowns from the day dresses.”

Moth gestured toward the dresser. “The nightgowns are kept in the middle drawer, my lady.”

Jyn smiled and set down her hairbrush. “I mean everything is the same color now that I’m…” she ran her fingers across the bristles, her smile fading, “now that I’m Empress.”

Moth was silent, and Jyn felt the heaviness of it. A feeling of resignation. It was a surprising shade of response. She turned to Moth, gave her a kind smile, and held out her hand for the dress.

“Has the Emperor had many lovers?”

Color crept up Moth’s cheeks and her gray eyes lowered. She lay the dress in Jyn’s hands.

“He occasionally visited his concubines, but they have been sent away.”

“Is that the usual practice?”

Moth’s eyebrows twitched.

“It is not.”

Jyn turned and walked to the dressing screen to change, untying her robe as she went.

“Has he sired any children with them?”

“No, my lady. The concubines were given doses of powdered shellwort.”

“Yes, I am familiar. It suppresses conception. So the Emperor does have knowledge of herbal lore.”

“He has knowledge of many things, my lady. He is truly remarkable.”  

A sudden curl of unease twisted in Jyn’s stomach.

“Did he ever take you, Moth?”

The flare of shock was palpable.

“No, my lady. The Emperor would never...I can assure you that’s impossible…”

“It’s alright, Moth. I believe you. And even if it were true, I don’t suppose I would have anything to say about it, would I?” Jyn said as she slipped out of her robe.

“On my life, my lady. He has only kept concubines. They were sent away the very first night you came to us.”

Jyn pressed her lips together and felt a rush of heat bloom up her chest and redden her own cheeks. She quickly pulled on the dress and shook out her hair, now mussed and in need of another brushing.

Moth stepped over to Jyn and helped her button the back of the gown. Jyn felt ashamed and vulnerable. Her pragmatism, her stability...everything felt shaken and tossed to the winds.

“Forgive me for being so rude,” she said.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady,” answered Moth. “Please sit and allow me to dress your hair. It’s so lovely and dark...May I put an ornament in it?”

Jyn shrugged. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to make some sort of effort.” She sat down and opened the comb chest, then chose a carved chalcedony flourish with sharp silver tines. Moth brushed Jyn’s hair and twisted it into a bun at the nape, then took the comb and carefully slid it into the style.

Jyn stood and looked in the mirror. Her skin was luminous against the shine of the silk, and her eyes were especially green. She looked fresh, innocent, and regal. Turning, she took Moth’s hands into hers.

“Thank you, my friend.”

Moth smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she saw the shadow cross Jyn’s face. The Kyber darkened and chilled, and Jyn straightened her arm and roughly pushed Moth behind her just as the chamber door flew open.

A palace guard rushed into the room, his helmet gone, teeth bared. His sword was drawn and the blade flashed in the sunlight.

_Hand tight, arm tense. Lifting to strike._

Moth yelped in surprise, and as Jyn gripped the guard’s sword hand and whirled around to his back, she likened the sound to the cry of a hawk.

“Earth whore,” the guard managed to snarl before Jyn drove the metal tines of her comb into his jugular.

Blood sprayed and life throbbed out of the man as he slumped down, mouth gaping. A grotesque gurgling sound erupted from his throat and he began to convulse. Jyn calmly looked at Moth and saw the naked horror in her face.

“My lady I must tell the Emperor,” stammered Moth, and took a step toward the open door.

“No! Moth, do not leave this room.”

Jyn took a breath, watched the twitching body slow and sink into death, the pool of blood spreading, and wondered.

She wondered if it would work. Of course, if it did, it would mean that…

It was worth a try, at least.

Jyn grasped her Kyber in her fist and closed her eyes. She thought of Orson, his hands on her skin, the smell of his neck, the taste of him. His eyes, his atmospheric eyes, shifting from celestial blue to storm gray to platinum.

_I am in danger. Come to me. Help._

She felt her crystal warm in her hand, but that was all.

Jyn released her pendant and turned back to Moth, who was shivering and holding herself, her eyes fixed on the twisted body lying on the floor. Jyn walked over to her and was going to embrace her, but realized she was soaked with blood.

“Everything’s alright,” she murmured, her mind racing.

Suddenly she remembered the secret passage. She could take Moth and escape that way, perhaps. Then she could leave Moth in the safety of the woods and return to the palace to try and find the Emperor.

“Jyn... _Jyn!_ What in storms... _Jyn answer me!_ ”

Jyn looked toward the door, eyes wide.

It was Orson.

“I am here,” Jyn called out, and heard the clack of his boots across the marble floors quicken into a run.

A moment later he appeared at the door, his white cape flaring around him. Jyn stood, still holding the dripping comb in her hand, her face and dress splotched with red.

Her Kyber flashed a luminous greeting.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

The Emperor’s glove was warm and silky against Jyn’s cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned against it, breathing in the scent of leather tinged with the metallic smell of blood. 

Everything smelled of blood.

 

“Are you hurt?” Orson’s voice was ragged with panic.

Jyn opened her eyes and watched his bright blue gaze flit across her face and down her body, examining her for wounds.

“No, I am not hurt. The blood you see is not mine.” 

Orson swallowed and removed his hand from Jyn’s cheek. He brushed his thumb against his lips and glanced at Moth, then gestured toward a chair. 

“Sit down. You look as if you’re about to faint.” 

Moth whispered an assent, then drifted to the chair and perched on the edge, still in a daze. 

 

“Who was the man,” asked Jyn. “Was he from Mustafar?” 

“His name was Pao,” said Moth, her voice heavy. “He was Scarifian.” 

Jyn could sense the troubled leaping of the Emperor’s thoughts. He began to pace, his cape rippling about him.   

“The palace guards are all born and raised in Scarif, true Skies, from trusted families…” It was as though he were trying to reassure himself rather than Jyn. 

“I’ll have to be as wary of the guards as I was when I first came here,” said Jyn with a wry smile. 

“They will be rounded up and questioned thoroughly, “ said the Emperor. “Their families as well. If any are found to have unsavory connections-”

“They’ll be executed and others will turn against you? It would be a never ending cycle.” 

“An attempt was made on the life of my Empress!” Orson shouted. His lisp emerged and he wiped his mouth with his fingers. 

Jyn spoke with deliberate calmness. “I am well aware I have enemies here. He was most likely a fanatic who was against your marriage to an Earth. You cannot send away all of your guards.”  

“I shall replace them with the Void!”

“And who are the Void? Are they not men as well? What makes them infallible?” 

The look Orson flashed her was strange and secretive. His shoulders twitched. If there was something to be revealed about the Void, he wasn’t going to do it while Moth was present. 

“Change nothing,” said Jyn, stepping toward him. “As you can see, I am able to defend myself.” 

She watched The Emperor breathe in, jaw set, mind still furiously calculating. He cleared his throat and turned, then walked briskly to the door. When he reached the threshold, he whirled around again and pointed a gloved finger at Moth, who bolted to her feet. 

“Move Her Majesty’s things into my chambers.”

Moth’s answer was drowned out as Orson barked orders to his Void to clear the body. Two of the tall, masked guards came into the room and Jyn stretched out a tentative branch of focus. 

She felt nothing. No physical impressions whatsoever. It was if she were trying to read the dead body at her feet.

Her eyes flashed at Orson, still standing at the threshold with the third Void at his side. Their gazes locked, and Jyn knew her look was one of terror. She backed up, her crystal darkening, and watched while one of the armored figures picked up the guard’s body as if it were a rag doll and flung it over it’s shoulder.

_ Surely there would be physical exertion? _

She focused again and felt nothing. 

“Your new post is with the Empress,” said Orson to the Void at his side. 

“No!” exclaimed Jyn. “Keep your dark sorcery to yourself. I’ll have none of it.” 

Orson’s glare was icy and Jyn set her jaw, stone faced. 

“Very well,” said the Emperor, and made a quick, beckoning gesture. As he marched away, his Void followed him, carrying death. 

 

Jyn looked down at her blood smeared hands, still holding the comb. She let it clatter to the floor. 

“I’ll ring for the chambermaids to clean the room,” said Moth softly. 

“Thank you Moth. Please lay a dress out in the Emperor’s chamber. A formal gown. Which room does the Emperor hold counsel?” 

“The Silver Hall, my lady, adjacent to the Five Points Room.” 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Jyn took careful steps down the grand staircase, holding her voluminous skirts and trying not to slip on the polished marble. If anything was going to kill her in this palace it would most likely be her absurd clothing. 

She refused a guard to accompany her, and even Moth’s offer to stay at her side, choosing instead to send her handmaiden back to the servant’s quarters to recover after the dramatic events of the day. 

It had been a lone wolf, Jyn was almost certain, but for good measure she wanted to show the remaining dignitaries that she was unharmed, and more importantly, unafraid. 

 

As Jyn approached the massive entrance to the Silver Hall, the stationed guards tensed. 

“Open the doors,” commanded Jyn.

When she entered the room, there was a moment of stunned silence from the table of Lords. The Empress was definitely unexpected. Jyn felt her heart clench with nervousness, then flutter as she saw Orson rise from his chair and begin to walk toward her. 

He looked gruff and puzzled, but his features softened the closer he got to her. He held out a gloved hand and when she lay her hand in his, he squeezed it gently.

He bent down and kissed the back of her hand and Jyn’s pendant glowed in subtle, curling waves, as if beckoning him to come closer and kiss her again. 

_ He will. Everywhere.  _

Jyn shivered and pressed her lips together as Orson’s eyes glinted at hers before he turned to the group of dignitaries now standing at the table.

“The Bright Star,” he announced, and the Lords bowed their heads. Except for Lord Tarkin, who merely tilted his smirk in her direction. 

  
  


Jyn sat to the left of The Emperor, and observed the interplay of wills between men. If any of them knew about the attempt on Jyn’s life, they hid it remarkably well. She only vaguely remembered some of the lords, having danced with them at the ball. Some were strangers to her. Orson called each one by name before they spoke, and Jyn repeated the names in her head, though she doubted she would ever keep them all straight. Lord Merrick was handsome, contemplative and spoke carefully. He obviously held the Emperor in great esteem. Lord Draven scowled a great deal and requested more troops be sent to his borderlands to the south, which skirted Mustafar. 

“Fire scouts have been seen encroaching upon our territory-”

“Unauthorized, I assure you,” said Tarkin smoothly. 

“Being as they are unauthorized, it would only be helpful to you to have the  _ support  _ of our troops,” said the Emperor with a graceful gesture of his hand. 

“So long as they  _ stay _ within your borders,” snapped Tarkin. He reminded Jyn of the sly, furtive snakes that would smooth their way into the cracks of Blackcraig Keep. 

 

The counsel continued into the afternoon, with each Lord addressing their concerns, and Jyn could feel a heavy, hovering constraint over the group. They were wary of Tarkin, and perhaps of her as well. 

 

Lord Moroff was broad and blustery with a fluffy white beard. Jyn liked him immediately. He was very concerned with the shifting weather patterns, and insisted that the recent cloud formations he had observed were warnings of treachery. The Emperor dismissed his beliefs as superstitious, and Moroff got red faced and shifted in his chair, harrumphing in frustration.

“Lord Moroff,” said Jyn, “My father, Galen Erso of the Kyberi, would tell me stories of the great Sky Father when I was a girl.”

Moroff sat back and his color calmed. 

“You look exactly the way I imagined Sky Father to look,” continued Jyn with a smile. 

The Lord’s grey eyes crinkled at the corners.  

“Not like this fledgling,” said Jyn, with a wry glance at the Emperor. 

Lord Moroff burst into great, heaving chuckles. He slapped a mighty hand on the table and pointed to Jyn. 

“This one has lightning in her veins!” he boomed. 

Jyn looked at her husband, saw his irritated expression, and enjoyed herself all the more.  

“That she does,” said the Emperor, his mouth tight.

“And here I thought the people of Eadu were humorless and dull,” said Tarkin in an oily voice. 

Jyn could feel the clench of anger within Orson, and she reached under the table and lay her hand on his thigh. 

Locking eyes with Lord Tarkin, she steeled herself. 

“Once a fire’s blaze has burned out, nothing is as dull as ash.”  

Tarkin’s pale eyes narrowed in reply.

“And the blaze always burns out. Always.”  She did not blink. Did not look away.

Tarkin sneered. Elegant. Dismissive. “With the right fuel, fires can burn indefinitely.”

“ _ Enough _ ,” barked the Emperor, and bolted to his feet. “I am dismissing this counsel. The hour grows late and I am sure you’re all eager to return to your lands.”

 

The lords rose from the table and though Jyn was expected to remain seated, she stood up as well. She cared not about properly dismissing each Lord, but crossed over to Moroff and embraced him. He grunted and chuckled and when she pulled away, his face was ruddy. He leaned down and whispered gruffly, “Not very well known, but my grandmother was born in Eadu.” 

Jyn smiled, then felt an intense wave of homesickness. Her throat tightened and Moroff patted her hands. 

“It was a good match. My grandfather loved her very much.” 

Jyn felt her own color rise. 

Moroff chuckled again and bowed low, then turned and strode out of the room. Broad and solid, like an Earth. 

 

When Jyn looked back at her husband, he was speaking in a low voice to Lord Tarkin. Orson’s stance was stiff, his arms crossed in front of him, his cape a protective shield. Finally, Tarkin gave the Emperor a nod, then turned and gave Jyn a quick, perfunctory bow before leaving the hall. 

 

As the doors clanged shut, Orson exhaled and rubbed his brow with his fingers. 

“An interesting day,” he muttered. 

“What was Tarkin speaking of? What fuel?” 

“You have a few questions for me, I imagine,” said Orson as he pulled off his gloves. He tossed them onto the table and took Jyn’s hands in his. 

“I think we should have supper in the garden,” he continued as he lifted her hand to his lips. Turning it over, unfolding her fingers like opening petals, he breathed a kiss into her palm.

“Then you can question me all you like.” His breath was warm. He kissed her again. “And I’ll question you…” He kissed her wrist, then grazed her inner arm with his lips and the tip of his tongue. “And you’ll answer me thoroughly,” he whispered against her skin. 

Jyn closed her eyes and tried to calm her galloping thoughts. Her crystal glowed and throbbed and she had half a mind to take it off. The treacherous thing seemed to only betray her feelings when it came to this man. She  _ did _ have questions and she  _ would  _ get answers, but right now she wanted nothing more than for Orson to take her right there on that hard, formal meeting table.

She felt him lean toward her, felt his hand hot against her cheek, and she lowered her arms, her hands touching his shoulders, then sliding down his chest. 

“And when we have tired of questions, we’ll go to bed,” murmured the Emperor. 

Jyn’s eyes opened. Orson’s searching look penetrated her skin and coursed through her blood. She felt entirely exposed when he looked at her like that, splayed open like a book, pages pressed down by his fingers, her language read and studied and understood in one merciless instant.  

His thumb brushed her lips.

“Jyn, what happened before...I knew you were in danger...Like something was pulling me to you. I cannot explain it.” 

Her pendant flared and Jyn had a sudden urge to take his thumb into her mouth. 

“As I said, the crystals can-” she licked her lips, “form attachments…”

She did not tell him what this really meant. 

She could not. 

Orson made a low sound in his throat and straightened. He mused for a moment, then removed his hand from Jyn’s cheek and brought it to his throat. “I’ll change for supper. The stink of policy is all over me,” he said as he tugged on his collar and rolled his neck. “Care to join me?” 

“No, I’ll wait for you in the garden,” said Jyn, backing away from him, and Orson’s eyes glittered with mischief. 

Jyn turned and made her way across the hall, the inner hall guards opening the doors before her. 

“I would summon guards to accompany you, but I already know you would refuse them,” echoed the Emperor’s voice behind her. 

“You are correct,” called Jyn over her shoulder. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The cook had attempted to make Eaduian dishes and failed miserably. The stew was thin and watery, and the mushroom dish was far too complex with seasonings. The Emperor seemed infinitely pleased with himself for planning such a meal, so Jyn ate and kept her criticisms to herself. 

There was an ease about Orson, now that all of the guests had departed. He had come down into the garden wearing a loose white shirt instead of his formal tunic, and he hadn’t bothered to comb his hair, so it curled out in wisps above his ears and at his nape. He blinked at the low evening sunlight, eyes crinkled, and made broad gestures while he told Jyn about his plans for reworking the design of the herb garden.

Jyn watched him and listened, feeling the weight of her concerns press down upon her. She held her questions close. She could open her hands and let them all blow away like dandelion fluff if she wanted to — his charm was so potent in its lightness — but she held fast. Rooted. 

 

Finally, Orson sat back in his chair and settled. A soft, rippling breeze picked up from the West and mingled the rich scents of the forest with the lighter, sweeter smell of garden blossoms. Jyn set down her knife and fork and took a sip of wine. Orson’s eyes were intent upon her. 

 

“What fuel does Tarkin seek?” she asked, her fingers tense on the stem of her glass. 

“Leave us,” said Orson to the attendants, and interlaced his fingers in his lap. His shoulders twitched upward and he cleared his throat. Once he and Jyn were completely alone, he spoke. 

“Lord Tarkin has a notion that Kyber crystals can be utilized in-” he spread his palms open, “-destructive ways.”

“He wants to weaponize them somehow,” said Jyn plainly. 

“It is my intention to prevent him from doing that,” stressed Orson. 

Jyn cocked her head to the side, incredulous. “But he spoke of fuel. Kybers are not projective, it is not in their nature. He wants to use kyber crystals to  _ fuel _ his fires.” 

Orson’s gaze darkened. 

“But then  _ what is the fire _ that demands this type of fuel?” Jyn murmured.  

“That’s the question,” said Orson with a shake of his head. “And that is why I must keep Tarkin close. He relies on my knowledge and ingenuity. He thinks I can extract energy from the crystals. I need to find out what he’s planning, and convince him that Kyber crystals are useless to him.” 

“Even if they are not,” said Jyn, her gaze flitting across the ground. She sensed that there was much more to this than the Emperor was revealing to her, but she felt no duplicity in him, only cautious hesitation. This would take time to unravel. 

“You share knowledge with the Fire realm?” she asked. 

“I try to share knowledge with all realms, yes. That is my purpose. I want to know how things work, I want to discover. And share. That is my way as a Sky.” 

“And the Void? Is that Fire lore at work?” 

Orson shifted and looked downward. 

“Who-  _ What _ are The Void?” asked Jyn. 

“Their armor is obsidian from Mustafar. It blocks your ability to read them.” 

“I am not witless, my lord, it is not merely the obsidian. There is...an  _ emptiness _ to them. It is unnatural.” 

“You’ll notice that I have dismissed them from my side.”

“You did not answer my question. You do not trust me,” declared Jyn. 

“How are Kyberic attachments made?” retorted the Emperor, eyes blazing.  

Jyn shot him an edged look and was silent. 

“Ah, see?” he murmured, relaxing back in his chair, “There we are.” 

Jyn sniffed and looked off to the side, her throat tight with frustration.  “There’s a touch of blight on your roses,” she said dryly, lifting her wineglass to take another sip. “I can make an infusion that will clear it.” 

“I’m sure that would be most helpfu-”

“And your flowering plum trees,” she continued, “They need their soil enriched. The bark shows signs of weakness.” 

A gentle curl of breeze touched Jyn’s cheek. 

“Anything else? I should have you speak with my head gardener…”

Jyn set down her glass and met Orson’s eyes. 

“You should have taken  _ me  _ on as your head gardener and married one of your Scarifian ladies. It would have pleased more people.”

The breeze flitted over her lips. 

“It would not have pleased me,” said Orson, low and ragged. 

Jyn held his penetrating gaze. The air stilled around her. 

“It’s time for bed, Jyn.” 

Fluttering warmth spread through her chest and she enclosed her pendant in her hand, covering it’s radiance. 

Orson stood up and approached her. 

“It’s...it’s not yet dark,” stammered Jyn, squeezing the crystal and lifting her chin to follow her husband’s deliberate, stalking steps around the table. 

“If you were my gardener, I would wander the gardens every night until I found you.”

Jyn’s breath quickened. 

“I would leave my Scarifian wife in her star chamber and seek you out amongst the dirt and the leaves and the flowers.”

He stopped before her and knelt down, his scent wrapping her in it’s seductive warmth as surely as if he were enclosing her in his cape.

“I would kneel at your feet and beg to taste you. Every night I would beg.” 

His eyes were lifted, pleading, beautiful. Nobody had told her they would be this beautiful. If only she had been warned... 

“Please come to bed, Jyn. Let me taste you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Perhaps if she had been a better student she could have prevented this. 

Perhaps she concentrated too much on combat training and discerning the physical responses in others rather than her own. 

Perhaps she was simply too weak and too vulnerable. 

 

At what point was the connection made? It wasn’t merely the consummation of her marriage. She knew of Eaduian marriages where the link was never established between husband and wife, even after years of shared life, children, a reasonably happy home…

 

Jyn crossed the bedchamber to the open windows and rolled her Kyber between chilled, restless fingers. She heard the chamber door shut and latch, and her husband’s boots made sharp clacks on the floor as he came up behind Jyn. The twilight breeze was cool and heavy with pollen.

 

Perhaps the first time she met his eyes, it had already been too late. 

 

Jyn bowed her head as if preparing for her own execution, resigned, baring her neck to the Emperor.

She felt his large, warm hands clasp her upper arms. She felt his breath heat the tender skin at her nape. Her heart pounded. His lips brushed the back of her neck and she couldn’t hold back a soft whimper.  

Orson’s hand slid up her arm to her shoulder, then slowly trailed up the side of her neck, lifting her chin, then grasping her throat. Jyn’s chest rose and fell with deep, panting breaths. She felt like a tree stirred by spring winds, her sap rising, then coursing through her to concentrate in the empty places where she ached.  

Her husband nuzzled the little hollow under her ear, and Jyn felt the hot tip of his tongue touch her skin. A tremor rippled through her and his hand gently tensed around her neck. She was completely his. This, she knew.  

His hand released its hold on her throat and trailed down, his fingers skimming her flickering pendant, then pressing under the low neckline of her dress. His other hand released her arm and wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, and Jyn felt his hardness against the small of her back. 

“Do you trust me, Jyn?” his voice hummed against her, his touch grazing the downward slope of her breast. 

“I...I am trying…” she answered through a haze of desire.

“Take off your Kyber,” he said as his fingers found her nipple. 

Jyn breathed in sharply, fear and arousal combined. 

“It’s a distraction,” he urged, and rolled her nipple between his fingers. 

Jyn felt as if her knees would buckle. Her hands flew up to his arm and clutched at it, and she pulsed her legs together, desperate for relief. 

“How can you ask this of me?” she said in a shaking whisper. 

Another gentle tug at her nipple, and Jyn whimpered and let her head fall back against Orson’s chest. 

 

“I want you to feel your own pleasure, and nothing else.” His voice was rougher now, deep and seductive. “Take it off, Jyn.” 

 

There was a certain, strange delight Jyn felt as she reached back and untied the knot in the cord. Her whole life had been in rebellion against this man, and now to obey him excited her profoundly. A far more wicked, satisfying rebellion. Against the weight of her past. 

 

The Kyber glinted in Jyn’s hand as she pulled it away from her body. 

“Give it to me, little one,” murmured the Emperor as he withdrew his fingers from her breast. He opened his hand and held it in front of Jyn.  

She held her crystal suspended for a moment, it’s color cooled and grayish, then slowly lay it in his palm. It flared with warmth as it touched his skin, as if it held a distant star within its depths and clouds parted to reveal it’s radiance. 

The Emperor enclosed the Kyber in his fist and began to walk toward the bedside table. Jyn had a moment of regret, a spear of panic, and she reminded herself that she was still strong, still trained, still able to defend herself. 

Orson stopped in his tracks and turned around, his eyes dark and glittering. 

“I can feel it.”

Jyn held still and silent. She was laid bare to him. 

“Your fear. I felt your fear-” he squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled in a rush, as if he were in pain. “But there’s something else, too...it aches…it’s-” 

“Desire,” said Jyn softly. 

Orson opened his eyes. “It’s overwhelming.” 

Jyn could only manage a slight smile. 

Orson held her gaze for a moment, then turned and carefully set the Kyber down on the table. Jyn watched as its glow dimmed, then settled into darkness. 

 

The outside light had faded to blue and a brisk, night breeze came in through the open windows, making the candlelight dance. Orson lifted two fingers. The breeze stilled. 

He crossed over to Jyn and she lifted her eyes to his. His face was beautifully lined, his skin golden in the candlelight. Jyn reached up a tentative hand and touched his lips, traced the uneven curve of them, and Orson closed his eyes, his breath quickening.

Of course he loved it, he was always touching his mouth, always stimulating that sensitive part of himself. He was being patient and obedient, letting her touch his lips in her curiosity, letting her watch his response, but as his hands settled on her waist and flexed powerfully, Jyn knew his patience was coming to an end. 

He opened his mouth and caught her two fingers, taking them in between his teeth, and Jyn let out a little gasp and pressed closer to him. He released her fingers and bent down, kissing her, sucking in her full lower lip, then opening his mouth to let her tongue taste his. 

Jyn’s blood was a wild rush. It pulsed in her ears. She barely felt his hands on the buttons at her back, barely felt him push her dress from her shoulders and tug the silk until it fell to the floor. Another night breeze touched her skin, chilling it slightly and making her shiver, and Orson bent down and lifted Jyn into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and hid her burning face in the crook of his neck as her husband carried her to the bed. 

 

The linens felt cool against Jyn’s bare skin as Orson lay her down. 

“I’ve been wanting to taste you since I first saw you,” he hummed in his low, gravelly voice.

“You have tasted me,” replied Jyn, and moved to kiss him again. 

He evaded her with a wide, wicked smile and slid down her body, breathing her in, his lips grazing her skin while Jyn trembled and gasped. 

He raised up and knelt between her legs, his gaze hot. Jyn looked at him with wide eyes, let him part her legs with his powerful hands, then turned her head as a wave of shyness overcame her. 

 

For a moment she felt only his breath against her sex, then his huge hands clamped around her hips and pulled her against his mouth. Jyn cried out as his tongue plunged into her. His mouth was relentlessly hot, soft, and searching. He was kissing her, thrusting into her, Jyn felt as if she were melting against him. She found the softness of his hair and splayed her fingers into it, then gripped and pulled as he traced upward along her aching, wet layers. His tongue found her clit and circled it, and Jyn whimpered and tugged again at his hair, demanding more. 

When he enclosed his lips around her swollen clit and sucked in, Jyn moaned and lifted her hips. 

Pleasure gathered into a tight knot, then radiated outward from her sex, heavy and hot through her bloodstream. Her fingers relaxed into languid, stroking caresses against Orson’s scalp, and he made obscene, hungry sounds in his throat as he devoured her. 

Jyn panted and rolled her head from side to side, heart pounding, tension gripping her harder and tighter. Orson’s mouth was ravenous on her clit, striking it with his tongue as he sucked, and Jyn arched up, shaking, then cried out as release broke over her like a storm. 

 

Rippling gusts of fresh, brisk air rushed across Jyn’s body, reviving her. The coolness brushed her nipples and they hardened. She opened her eyes and saw the Emperor kneeling between her legs, lightly stroking her inner thigh with looking very pleased with himself. His lips and chin were shining wet, as if he had just devoured a piece of fruit with great, juicy bites. He wiped his lips with his fingers, then his thumb. His eyes glowed with delight. 

“You taste sublime, little one.” 

A renewed bolt of desire went through Jyn, and she reached for her husband, pulling him down and kissing him with a hungry, open mouth. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, and she tasted like wine and water leaves. 

She tugged on his shirt, slid her hands down, fiddled with his belt, and he withdrew from her and undressed quickly. He had still been wearing his boots, and they thumped as he dropped them on the floor. His belt buckle clattered. 

When he came to her again, Jyn pressed herself up against his body. She rubbed against him like an animal and fought the urge to bite his flesh. She wouldn’t fight it for long. 

She slid down against his chest, biting at his skin until her lips grazed his nipple. She took it between her teeth and bit gently, then sucked it into her mouth. Orson gasped and drove his fingers into her hair. He pulled and Jyn sucked harder until he growled.  

 

Pushing him onto his back, she mounted him with an aggressiveness that she had only known in combat. His cock was huge and hard and when Jyn wrapped her small hand around it, he gasped as if she had scorched him. His eyes squeezed shut and his chin tilted upward as he arched, driving himself into the grip of her hand.

Jyn positioned herself over him and rubbed the lips of her sex over the tip of his cock. He pushed into her hand, thrusting upward and making raw, primitive groans. Jyn smiled as she watched the Sky Emperor writhe underneath her. She fitted him to her, braced her hands on his chest, and lowered herself slowly. 

Orson was breathing hard. His eyes were half closed and his lips were flushed. Suddenly he gritted his teeth and clamped his huge hands around her hips. He pulled down, impaling Jyn onto his cock. There was no apology, no words of comfort, just hard, flashing eyes and heavy hands and the delicious ache of his thick length stretching her. 

Jyn breathed in sharply and tensed, then exhaled and began to move with deliberate slowness. 

She sensed Orson’s impatience, felt it in his demanding, twitching thrusts upward, and lifted herself just enough to evade him. His eyes shone with a strange glow, like someone who is half starved and made vicious by it. 

Jyn gave her husband a languid smile and settled into a rocking, deep rhythm. She felt him resist, then relent, lying back and easing his grip. He matched her pace, lifting his hips to thrust into her as she lowered herself. He was stroking new places within her, new sources of the ache, and Jyn had a sudden vision of buds stretching out toward the sun, stimulated, unfurling, then bursting open in an explosion of color. 

“Touch yourself, Jyn,” said Orson, his voice smooth and deep. Under tight control. 

Jyn rolled her neck and shook out her hair, the ends brushing the slope of her lower back. She bit her lower lip as her fingers found her sensitive, swollen clit. 

Orson’s bright eyes opened. “That’s it, little one,” he breathed.

Jyn pressed down and circled and her arousal surged to the brink. She picked up speed and gazed down at her husband. She saw his open, vulnerable mouth, his feverish eyes, and her own vision dimmed as she felt pleasure clench and vibrate, then burst outward from her center. 

Orson was huge and hard and thrusting, and Jyn felt streams of heat erupting from him. She almost sobbed from the overwhelming release. Collapsing forward, she clung to her husband as her sex pulsed and fluttered around his. 

Orson wrapped his arms around Jyn and held her as she tried to catch her breath. Her heart pounded with the same rhythm as his, and her sex still tensed with little aftershocks that made him respond with quick, sharp breaths. 

 

They lay together, their skin cooling from night breezes, their breath slowly calming. 

Jyn rolled to her side, and Orson followed, still holding her close. She blinked sleepily, her whole body humming with euphoria. She felt as her Kyber must feel when she took it into the depths of the earth. The same charged communion. The same bliss. 

She reached up and touched the raised bones on Orson’s shoulders, like the nubs of deer antlers yet to branch. 

“Such strange little bumps,” she murmured, then drew closer to press her lips against them. 

“Legend is Skies had wings once...long time ago,” said Orson, his voice weighted and velvety, nearing sleep. 

“And these are all that’s left.” 

“Mmmm…fair trade to be closer to Earth…”

Jyn lay back on Orson’s arm, breathed in the scent of waving grasses and sunlight, and imagined pale wings enfolding her as she drifted under. 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sometime, in the depth of the night, Jyn stirred from sleep. She carefully untangled herself from her husband’s embrace and reached over to the nightstand. Hand splayed, her fingers searched along the smooth marble surface until they touched her Kyber. 

It blazed to life and glowed as if Jyn had lit a candle. 

She put it on. 

Lying back, she felt the subtle hum of energy flit through her bloodstream, felt her awareness sharpen, and she focused outward. 

_ Heaviness of limbs, pulse steady. Trust. _

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The morning air had a tang of rain, and the usually ecstatic birdsong was subdued. 

Jyn parted the curtains and peered out the window. The sky was dim and marbled with stormclouds.

She sighed with disappointment, then felt Orson’s arms wrap around her waist from behind. He pulled her against him and tugged the neckline of her nightdress down over her shoulder. 

“What shall we do today, Bright Star?” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair.

“I wanted to spend the day in the garden, but a storm is coming. The sky is so dreary and grey.”

“Mmm…” hummed the Emperor, making Jyn shiver. “You know,” he continued, “grey skies are not really grey.” He drew aside her hair and kissed her neck. “They’re silver.” 

Jyn raised her eyebrows. “Well, the further west I look, the more tarnished your lovely silver becomes. I expect the rain will start soon.”

“Twenty three minutes,” mumbled Orson against Jyn’s bare shoulder. “I can pull it closer of you like, it will end more quickly…”

“No, no. Let it come when it will.” 

She felt his teeth scrape against her skin she tensed, her crystal flaring as arousal coursed through her. 

“I’ll show you the Celestial Library today,” said the Emperor as he kissed her shoulder. “But first you need breakfast, and I need a shower.” 

“Shower? You mean the rainmaker?” 

Jyn heard Orson’s soft chuckle and she turned around, miffed. “Well I don’t know what that blasted thing is called!”

Orson’s eyes shone with tenderness, but there was laughter in the corners. He gathered up her hands and brought them to his lips. 

“My sublime wife,” he said, then kissed her hands, her knuckles, her palms. His eyes flashed at her. 

“ _ I  _ am the rainmaker _. _ ” 

He extended his hand toward the west and made a twisting motion. The words he spoke were strange, whispering, pattering sounds. Jyn’s Kyber was illuminated and it trembled against her skin. 

She watched with wide eyes as the clouds coalesced like quicksilver. Treetops bent and tossed. Orson’s words seemed to merge with the sound of the wind until it was one, wild, breathing utterance. A fierce gust came through the windows and Jyn blinked and gasped as it blew back her hair. The wind was wet and smelled of soil and the morning light of the room darkened to shadow as stormclouds drew near. Orson splayed his fingers and Jyn felt the whole sphere of energy around her clench, then collapse. A deluge of rain was released. 

 

Orson took a breath and hung his head for a moment, as if regaining his strength. He flexed his hands and cleared his throat, then turned and gave Jyn a bright, charming smile. 

She responded with a quiet look of wonder. 

All at once, the bedchamber door opened and carts rolled in, piled high with elaborate pastries and flanked by servants carrying trays. 

“Ah! Breakfast is here. I’m going to wash. Enjoy, my love.” 

Jyn stood still, dazed, as the Sky Emperor strode into the washroom. She did not know what stirred her more, the magic, the storm, or the sound of that word from his lips. 

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Entering the Celestial Library was like walking into the crystalline heart of a gem, with each of its thousands upon thousands of books a different facet. Marble columns gleamed and soared into domed ceilings, repeating down a vast hall flanked by shelves that held every manner of tome, rolled parchment, and manuscript.

There were several globes placed about the hall, as well as a few devices that were strange to Jyn. They seemed to be sky charts of the constellations, wrought from silver and gold and sparkling with precious stones.

In the center of the hall was an impressive table, higher placed than most, with maps spread flat upon it’s alabaster surface. There was no chair, which did not surprise Jyn, as she knew that Orson grew restless when seated. Various books were stacked neatly, some leather bound and ancient, some plain fabric, some gilt. There were rows of crystal inkwells that held a rainbow of colored inks and a plume of quills — on the writer’s left hand side, of course.

The library had no lack of windows, but the light that came through was storm darkened, so a staggering number of candelabra had been lit. They stood throughout the hall like flame tipped saplings, and Jyn had a sudden realization that this was Orson’s true garden; arranged in shelf beds, flourishing, spines rigid as stems and pages like petals.

 She breathed deeply, taking in the perfume of books. Earthy and strangely sweet. A slight hint of mildew. The library of Blackcraig Keep in Eadu was paltry compared to this grand hall, and always smelled of woodsmoke and stone.

 This was a living place.

 Jyn turned to Orson and looked at him with wonder. He stood proudly, arms folded over his lifted chest, eyes grey as the storm outside. There was a profound sense of peace about him, standing there amidst the lore of the world.

“This is it,” said Jyn slowly. “This is what you hope to achieve.”

“To gather knowledge and maintain it for future generations. Yes. This is my life’s work.”

It was nothing like what Jyn had been led to believe. A brutal Sky, a bloodthirsty conqueror, bent on the destruction of Earth culture.

What she thought was a life wrought in blood had been ink all along.

 

“As you can see,” Orson gestured toward a narrow bookshelf, “the section reserved for Earth lore is quite sparse. I’m assuming it’s because your teachings are passed down by mouth?”

“They are, for the most part, though we do have our own library within the keep. Most of the writings are historical records and botanical lore. The botanical drawings are helpful for children…” Jyn’s voice trailed off and she met Orson’s eyes. He tilted his head and his brow creased.

“What is it, Jyn?”

“Shellwort.”

The Emperor’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “What of it?”

“I’m assuming you grow it in your medicinal garden-”

“-I do.” His eyes pierced her.

“I would like to take it...daily. For the time being.”

Orson was still for a moment, then turned away and pretended to adjust the fit of his glove. Jyn touched the table and leaned toward him.

“I mean to take it, Orson. I’m not ready.”

When her husband turned back, his face held a thoroughly practiced neutral expression, but Jyn could feel the torrent of conflicting feelings underneath.

“I’ll have your handmaiden- Moth? She’s your favored one, is she not?”

Jyn nodded.

“She will bring a dose with your tea in the afternoons.”

Surprised by his acquiescence, Jyn could only say “Thank you.”

Orson’s gaze was lowered. “You trusted me enough to ask, and I will honor that trust.” His eyes flashed up to Jyn briefly, then lowered once again to the table.

 

“May I look at your Earth books?” asked Jyn, and Orson straightened. His whole face lit up with eagerness.

“Of course. Please!” he said and held out a hand toward the bookshelf.

Jyn crossed the shining floor and scanned the spines, most of them copies of familiar botanical writings, but some had no indication of what they were. She pulled out a large volume, clad in gilded leather, and opened it.

“An encyclopedia of the various minerals and their attributes,” said Orson, his voice echoing across the vastness of the room.

“Nothing about Kyber crystals, I see,” said Jyn as she flipped through the book.

Orson walked toward her, his boots clicking on the marble. He stopped, quite close, and reached up. Jyn caught his scent and images from the previous night flashed through her mind. She gripped the encyclopedia so tightly it creaked.

“This one...” said Orson, and took down a small, ancient looking book. He opened it, but his gloved fingers were far too large to turn the delicate pages with care, so Jyn returned the larger volume to its shelf and held out her hands for the little book.

Orson lay it in her hand as if giving her a living creature, and Jyn looked up and saw tenderness in her husband’s face. She gently turned the pages.

“A book of Earth myths…” she murmured, “but they’re so simplistic...”

She looked up and met Orson’s eyes. They were summer blue.

“It’s a children’s book,” she said with wonder.

“It has always been my favorite.”

Jyn looked down at the book. She touched it’s worn pages and imagined a small boy with wheat colored hair devouring the stories within. Perhaps he whispered the words as he read aloud to himself, lisping, blue eyes wide with excitement.

 “The story of the deer and the cave,” said Jyn as she came upon a familiar illustration; a  roots-intertwined design around the figure of a deer. She knew the myth very well.

“A young girl follows her pet deer into a cave and discovers the crystals that grow there,” said Orson.  _“The girl had seen snowflowers touched by sunrise and lake willows bathed in moonlight, but she had never seen anything so beautiful as the shining crystals.”_

 As he spoke, Jyn read the words on the page. He had memorized it perfectly.

“And when she touches one of the crystals,” continued Jyn, “she can feel her deer’s heartbeat, rapid and strong and wild. She can feel the soreness in its left flank from when it bumped the cave wall as it bounded into the narrow space.”

Orson nodded, smiling. “The girl harvests the crystal and puts it in her pocket to take back to the shaman of her settlement. But she cannot find her way out of the cave. She wanders for hours with her deer at her side…”

“Until she hears the song of a nightlark,” said Jyn quietly.

“Smart little girl to follow the song,” added Orson.

Jyn turned another page and saw an illustration of a five pointed star, white and shining, its beams cutting through the darkness. She gave Orson a puzzled look.

“This was never part of the story…”

“Was it not? The girl reaches the mouth of the cave and sees the eye star of Ursus. She uses it to navigate her way home.”

Jyn closed the book and was quiet as she absorbed this new knowledge. Her people had seen fit to blot out that part of the story even though it had symbolic significance. The realization disturbed her.

She turned, lost in thought, and turned to return the book to its place. She rose on tiptoe and stretched, but the shelf was just out of reach. Orson gave a low chuckle and wrapped an arm around her waist, then lifted her up.

Jyn’s pendant flared. She slid the book into place and Orson lowered her back to the floor.

 She wanted him again. She never stopped wanting him. He had stirred something in her that reached all the way down to her roots, and all she could do was helplessly stretch up toward the source. Every now and then she would touch it and be lifted up like a seed and tossed to the winds, then she would fall to earth and root herself again, still wanting, still reaching.

 He withdrew his arm. Rain drove against the west facing windows in sharp, pattering gusts and thunder rumbled overhead.

“West wind brings rain, East wind brings light, South wind brings heat and North wind brings cold,” recited Orson as he walked with Jyn back to the table. Jyn knew the passage as well. It was a common nursery lesson of the four realms.

“Though you come from the North and you are anything but cold,” Orson continued.

Jyn met his eyes. They had shifted from blue to bright silver. She felt her cheeks flush with heat.

“What of the ancient languages can you read?” he asked.

Jyn took a breath, conscious of the fact that he was vastly more well-read than she. “I can read Eaduic runes, of course, and Yavinish, but I cannot write the Yavinish script. It’s too elaborate.”

Orson nodded. “It takes years to master. How did you learn to read it?”

“My combat tutor was Water, and he taught me their language as well.”

“What was his name?”

“Imwe.”

Orson raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Chirrut Imwe. An extremely skilled fighter. One of the best of all four realms. He nearly took out an entire centuria single handedly.”

“Yes, I know. Until they slaughtered him like an ox.”

Orson looked downward. He cleared his throat. “Your people prevailed in the end.”

“Only because you were spare with your troops,” stressed Jyn.  

“I wouldn’t have had to send _any_ if the Kyberi had accepted my terms.”

She lifted her chin, incredulous. “To have free access to our Kyber mines? What sort of terms are those?”

“I offered your people the protection of the Five Points against Mustafar. If small skirmishes are necessary to prevent a cross-realm war, then so be it.”

“Small skirmishes,” Jyn muttered. “Fifty Kyberi dead from a small skirmish.”

“ _And_ two hundred Sky soldiers.”

“Aye, we did well,” said Jyn proudly.

Orson squared his shoulders, mouth stern. Suddenly his lips curved into a generous smile, rounding his cheeks and brightening his eyes.

“I wish I would have been there to see you fight. It must have been beautiful. The strength of Earth with the fluidity of Water.”

Jyn shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I have no mind for beauty while I’m fracturing skulls with my oakstaff.”

“Is that your weapon of choice? The quarterstaff? I shall have one made for you.”

“I would be grateful. I need suitable clothes, as well. I should — I must — get back to my daily training.”

“Of course. Tell me if you require a sparring partner.”

“Are you volunteering?” asked Jyn with a smile, and Orson exhaled a chuckle and held up both hands.

“I am certainly not. I know full well you would have me at your mercy within seconds.”

“Surely you are able to fight,” said Jyn, taking a few cautious steps toward Orson.

“If necessary, yes. But it is not my strong suit.”

“What is _your_ weapon of choice?” asked Jyn.

Orson’s eyes sparkled.

“And don’t say _diplomacy_ or some nonsense.”

He gave his low, inward chuckle and looked down. He reminded Jyn of a shy child in that moment, and she felt a surge of tenderness toward him, but his eyes lifted and she was pinned by their intensity. The tenderness morphed into desire.

“Then I suppose I have nothing to say.”

Jyn pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze. Catching sight of a star chart, she stepped forward and touched it with the tips of her fingers. The parchment crackled as she picked it up and spread it out before her.

“The Skies call this shape the Great Bear as well?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed. The largest constellation in the spring sky.”

“I would have thought you’d have changed it to something more…birdlike. Claimed it as your own.”

“The stars belong to everyone. Much like knowledge.”

Jyn mused for a moment, looking at at the intricate map. It was beautifully wrought, with silver scrollwork and precise, delicate lines.

“Is this why you are named for the Bear? This constellation?”

Orson’s eyes twinkled and he gave Jyn a wide, sad smile.

“It is, though in truth, it was misplaced.”

“How so?”

He cleared his throat and turned away, pacing the length of the table.

“My father had great ambitions for me. I was to be the mightiest of all the Skies. A formidable warrior who would plunder the realms for knowledge by any means necessary.”

Jyn leaned against the table, eyes intent on her husband.

“But I wasn’t a warrior. All I ever wanted to do was read and study. I had a quick mind and a strong will. Perfect for a magic user.”

“Wasn’t your father a mage? I thought the Sky rulers were always so.”

“Magic requires study. While my father reigned, the darkness in Mustafar grew and Vader rose to power. My father chose to build our troops instead of his own knowledge.”

“And your mother?”

“I have no memory of her. She died when I was an infant.”

Jyn’s throat tightened. “I was seven when my mother passed.”

“You are very fortunate to have a father that loves you.”

Jyn pressed her lips together and swallowed through the tightness.

“You miss him a great deal, don’t you.”

She could only nod in response.

“Can you sense him through your Kyber? His well being?”

Jyn’s eyes flashed to Orson’s.

“My father is a shaman of our people. He does not wear a Kyber himself because his connection to all is so strong…”

“That wasn’t my question, Jyn.”

She breathed in sharply and looked about her as if searching for a means of escape.  She had already made herself vulnerable to him in more ways than one, but to speak the words terrified her. It would crumble her last defense.

“I can no longer sense him from a distance. The attachment has been broken-” Jyn took another breath and met Orson’s gaze. “-and reforged.”

Orson circled the table, approaching Jyn, and she took a few steps as well, keeping her distance.

They settled into a slow, irregular orbit: Orson pursuing, Jyn evading.

A pulse of radiance unfurled from her pendant, and Jyn covered the crystal with her hand. Her eyes were wide and wet, and her heart pounded. At that moment, she would have been more comfortable standing before him stark naked and without her Kyber rather than clothed and glowing. Completely exposed.

“Is it because I am your husband?”

His gloved finger touched the table, skimmed it as he walked, traced the edge, and Jyn felt like a hunted thing.

“Our marriage makes no difference to the Kyber.”

Thunder crackled, tense and compressed, then uncoiled into low rumbles that spanned the length of the sky.

The Emperor came to a halt and tilted his head to the side. His right shoulder twitched.

“Interesting...” he murmured.

He had gotten his answer.

Jyn took a step backwards and stopped as well, her thoughts tumultuous as the storm outside. A spear of sickening doubt lodged itself in her chest. It was just clouds and wind. All of it. His charm, the tender, starved looks he gave her, his seductive way with words. It couldn’t possibly be genuine.

“Why don’t you tell me what you really want,” she said, her voice calm but frayed.

The line between Orson’s brows deepened. He lifted a closed hand to his lips and brushed his gloved thumb against them.

“You want to enter our mines and plunder them for Kyber crystals without resistance.”

Orson was still, but his eyes were full of glimmering movement.

“I know that’s why you took me as your bride, my lord.”

His brows lifted. “Are we back to ‘my lord’ again?”

“I will not let it happen, _Orson_. I will fight to my last breath to keep it from happening...or until you steal the breath from me.”

“Do not speak such things,” said Orson in a tense whisper.

Jyn’s crystal flared.

“Why don’t I just tell you all I know about the crystals and then you can be rid of me?”

“ Enough, Jyn.”

“I’ll even leave my pendant with you, to _tinker with_ as you like.”

“ _Stop_.”

“You won’t have to suffer another dreadful alliance.”

Orson flew to Jyn, gripped her upper arms with his massive hands and pulled her up against him. Jyn felt the heat of his body, breathed in his deepened, excited scent, and felt desire course through her like lightning.

“Is that what you want? _Is it?_ ” he snarled, and drove a hand into her hair. He gripped it, tugged, and Jyn felt a sharp throb between her legs. She closed her eyes, her hands resting on his stiff, tight collar.

“Do you want to leave?” Orson was speaking in the other voice now. Root deep. Rich as black earth. He took a step forward and Jyn felt the edge of the table against her back. Her eyes opened and she caught the blaze in his. With swift strength, she brought her hands to the smooth surface of the table and lifted herself onto it. She raised her legs and Orson caught them, his gloved hands deliciously smooth against the thin skin behind her knees. Jyn lay back, parchment crackling underneath her body, thunder rippling in the distance. Orson’s face was shadowed and menacing. He slid a hand along her inner thigh and Jyn tensed, then gasped as soft leather brushed against her sex. She pressed against the hand, the thick gloved fingers, and rubbed against them, then suppressed the urge to beg when Orson pulled his hand away.

He lifted two fingers, the black leather shining from her wetness, and shook his head.

“No, little Earth girl, you don’t want to leave.”

Jyn sat up and wrapped her legs around Orson’s waist. Her crystal trembled as she pressed her lips against his, then pulsed as his mouth opened. Jyn captured his lower lip and sucked in hard, making Orson growl low in his throat. She wiggled against him and felt his hardness, then squeezed her legs tighter.

Suddenly he pulled away, hands firm on her upper arms.

“I’m going to make you wait.” Orson’s voice was tense with self control… but his eyes glowed like a wild creature.

Jyn’s lips swelled into a tight pout, then relaxed as she rolled his taste around in her mouth. She contracted her legs again and heard his sharp intake of breath.

“I am Earth. I am very good at waiting. You, however, are as impatient as a gust of wind.” She pressed close, parted her lips, and felt a surge of triumph as Orson bent down to kiss her again.

“Your Highness, I beg your forgiveness-”

Jyn barely heard the man servant's voice over the bloodrush in her ears.

Orson turned his head the side and snapped. “ _What is it!_ ”

“A thousand pardons, but we have a messenger from Eadu.”

The word cut through Jyn’s haze of lust like a dagger.

“From _Eadu_?” repeated Orson.

Jyn slid off the table and took a step toward the bowed servant.

“A name, please. Did they give a name?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Andor.”

“Cassian,” Jyn whispered, and her gaze shot to Orson.

His eyes were shards of ice.


	9. Chapter 9

Jyn’s slippered feet made no sound as she made her way across the Great Hall, but her husband’s boots made echoing clacks and he cleared his throat repeatedly. The closer they got to the Dawn Room, the tighter Jyn’s throat felt. 

It was the room that she had been brought to, ragged and brown, a caught animal, to say goodbye to her father.

It was the room where she had first touched the Emperor. 

Orson’s arm encircled her waist as the doors opened and a possessive hand splayed across her middle. They entered together with even steps, shining and regal, and Jyn fought to remain calm. 

 

Cassian Andor stood in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed. His dark brown cloak was soaked with rainwater and his boots were splattered with mud. He had ridden a horse and dismounted. His dagger holsters were empty, as was his quiver. His bow had been confiscated as well. For a brief moment Cassian’s face was neutral and guarded, then recognition alighted and his features relaxed. 

“Jyn.” He spoke her name as an exhalation of relief, as if he had found her still breathing body upon a battlefield. 

Orson’s arm tensed around Jyn. “ _You are to address the Empress_ _properly_.” He was using his most formal tone; the one that warbled slightly, like the call of a threatened bird. 

Jyn ignored the imperiousness of her husband and said evenly, “Jyn will do.”  

Orson was taut as a bowstring behind her. With a glance toward the door, Jyn addressed one of the servants. “Bring a drying cloth and something hot. Tea and soup.”

“Right away, your majesty.” 

“Some bread as well.”

“Yes, your majesty.” 

She turned back to Cassian, whose face was now marred by disgust. “I am too late, then,” he muttered.

The Emperor’s hand twitched.

“I feared as much,” added Cassian. 

Orson’s chest rose sharply against Jyn’s shoulder blades, then stilled as she lay her hand over his. He was held suspended, the outburst checked, and Jyn fitted her fingertips into the sloping spaces between Orson’s knuckles. He exhaled and snapped his head to the side, then wiped his lips with his other hand. 

“Is my father well?” asked Jyn. 

Cassian lowered his chin. 

“Can you not feel-” his gaze flitted to Jyn’s Kyber, then back to her face.  As confusion morphed into realization, Cassian’s lips twisted in anger. He glanced down at the floor and gave a hard sniff. 

“I cannot sense him from afar. Not anymore,” said Jyn, as neutral as she could manage. 

When Cassian looked up again, his eyes were dim with sadness. 

“Your father is well.” 

In her relief, Jyn relaxed against her husband. Orson responded with a brush of his thumb under the slope of her breast. The Kyber flickered. 

Cassian’s eyes shot up to the Emperor’s face and narrowed. Jyn knew full well that, had Cassian been armed, he would have sent a dagger flying straight for Orson’s throat.

She also knew that she would have stopped it. 

“Were you sent by father? Is Eadu under attack?” asked Jyn. 

“No, it was my decision to come. I thought that perhaps I could-” Cassian shifted, then unexpectedly grinned. “I am no statesman. But I wanted to try and negotiate your release.” 

“You would have failed,” declared Orson. 

Jyn’s lips tightened. _ Diplomacy, indeed.  _

She swiveled within Orson’s grasp and faced him, his hand now splayed across her lower back. Jyn steeled herself against the closeness of him and the scent of his mouth so near hers. Orson’s eyes darkened as he met Jyn’s gaze. His breathing changed and Jyn sensed the bloodrush. 

“If you cannot be civil, I shall have to ask you to leave,” she said, low. 

Orson was still for a moment. 

“You do not need to ask,” he said, and withdrew his arm. He cocked his head, bird-like and haughty, and glared at Cassian. The skin under Orson’s ears was flushed red with anger. “Visit with your kinsman and take refreshment. Then he can be on his way.” 

“Cassian,” said Jyn as she turned back to her friend, “You are most welcome to stay for the night-”

“-I’ll not stay here, Jyn,” said Cassian firmly. “But I do thank you.” 

“Safe travels,” sniffed Orson as he whirled around. His boots clacked as he exited the room, and Jyn could hear his growling command to the guards to leave the doors open. She turned, ready to follow her husband into the hall and scold him, but a stream of tray-carrying servants stopped her. 

 

Cloth-dried and ruffled, Cassian gulped down the steaming hot tea as if it were a tankard of ale. He set down his cup and made a face. Jyn watched him with amusement.

“It does leave a lot to be desired,” she remarked, glancing at her untouched cup. 

“It’s like drinking bog water,” grumbled Cassian. “I can’t even place what blend it is.”

“Nor can I,” said Jyn, breaking into soft laughter. “I can taste white poplar and sage, but the rest is a mystery.” She relaxed back on the gilded couch, while Cassian remained in a hunched squat at the very edge of his chair. He seemed to scan Jyn, and his eyes narrowed. 

“It’s strange to see you dressed like this.” 

“It’s strange to see you drink from a teacup with flowers on it,” smiled Jyn. “I have blackroot in the mornings and they somehow managed to find a mug for it. It’s probably an antique. ”

Cassian gave Jyn a quick, tense smile, then shot a glance toward the door. He was as agitated as a chained wolf. 

“Has he been... _ considerate _ of you?” Cassian asked, low and ragged.

Jyn tilted her head and pressed her lips together. Her gaze fell to the floor.

“You mean to ask if he has forced himself upon me.” Looking up, she met Cassian’s dark eyes. “He has not.” 

Cassian’s face lit up. “The marriage can still be annulled-”

“You misunderstand me, Cassian.” It was useless to try and hide the flaring glow of her crystal, or the hot rush of blood to her cheeks. “The marriage has been consummated.” 

There was a pause, and Jyn watched as realization and understanding passed like clouds over Cassian’s features. 

“Well,” he said finally, “This is unexpected.” 

“Indeed it is,” replied Jyn. She wondered if her kinsman thought she was under a spell, or lying under threat, or simply mad. He was probably considering all three. 

“Please eat something. Some bread, at least,” said Jyn with a gesture toward the table. 

“No, thank you.”  Eyes shifting toward the open door. 

“Take a little time to rest after your journey-”

“ _ I don’t wish to stay here, Jyn. _ ” 

Jyn straightened, considered for a moment, then stood up.

“I will travel back with you, then.”

Cassian bolted to his feet. “You’ll return with me to Eadu?”

“No, I will accompany you to the Tor. Then I will turn back,” said Jyn over her shoulder as she started for the hallway.

Cassian’s voice echoed across the room. “Should I prepare for a battle?”

Jyn flashed him a wry smile and stepped into the hall. 

 

“ _ I will not allow it! _ He’ll take  _ every _ possible opportunity to try and convince you to return with him!” 

She had found the Emperor in a sulk, pacing at the far end of the main hall, arms crossed and cape flaring. 

“We have a binding twice over, Orson. I made vows when I became your wife, and we made a bargain. Me in exchange for my father. A vine twice wrapped I will not sever.” 

She did not mention the third binding. The silent, luminous one. 

“Yes, of course. A bargain.” Orson’s tone was acrid, but his eyes were vulnerable. He wiped his lips and cocked his head. The line between his brows cut deep. 

“Why did you not marry him?”

Jyn froze. Stunned. 

“Be- Because it was never like that between us.”

“But you love him-”

“Of course I love him! He’s my kinsman!” 

“Is he the one whose wrist you broke?” 

Jyn stared at her husband in amazement and tried not to smile at his ridiculous questions.

“No, actually. And when I told him what happened, I had to stop him from  _ killing _ the poor boy.”

Orson’s mouth tightened and he looked down, shifting from foot to foot. He pressed his thumb to  his lips and his cheek pulsed, jaw clenching. 

“I grew up with him, he is as a brother to me. I will ride as far as the Tor and then I will turn back.” 

“It’s absurd!” blustered Orson. “The Bright Star cannot travel on horseback, with no guard, clear across the realm!” He thrust out an arm in a dramatic sweep. 

“It’s not as if I’ll be wearing a ballgown with a crown upon my head! I need no guard. I will wear my clothes from Eadu. We shall simply be two travelers.”

“And what if you are attacked?” 

“I have fought and won against trained soldiers, Orson. I think I can hold my own against a stray thief or two.” 

The Emperor pivoted with an exasperated huff and took a few steps. Head down, curved in on himself like a perched owl weathering a storm. When he turned back, his eyes were sharp as quartz, but his shoulders had eased. 

“You’ll be gone for a night,” he muttered. 

“A night that I shall travel through,” replied Jyn. 

Orson rolled his neck and cleared his throat. Jyn predicted the shoulder twitch and spread of the fingers. All of his impulsive movements were bubbling to the surface. An unconscious spell of protection. 

When he finally spoke, his voice rippled with distress. “I’ll give you Boreas. He’s the swiftest.” He cleared his throat. “What weapons do you require? I cannot provide a quarterstaff, but-”

“Dual-wield daggers will be enough.” 

“You’ll need a shield.”

“Too heavy. It will slow me down.” Jyn took a step toward her husband. There was tenderness in his eyes, like the swell of brook water under a thin layer of ice. She took another step and felt her Kyber warm against her skin as she reached up to touch his cheek, but in a flash Orson’s gaze darted over her shoulder and hardened. 

Jyn turned and saw Cassian approach, then halt. He had pulled his cloak around himself, and his travel pack was closed at his side.  

“Cassian,” said Jyn, “I’ll have a servant take you to your mount while I dress for the journey.”

“I can find my way,” replied Cassian, his voice steady.

Jyn gave him a nod. “I will rejoin you at the stables.” Turning back to Orson, Jyn lay a tentative hand on his chest. “Will his weapons be returned to him?” 

“I’ll see to it,” said Orson stiffly, still glaring at Cassian. 

Jyn nodded again, conflicted, then started to turn away when Orson’s hand enclosed hers. Cassian’s soft footsteps started and diminished as he retreated down the hall toward the doors. 

Orson stroked Jyn’s hand with his thumb and squeezed, then brought her palm to his lips. Jyn’s chest clenched and her crystal throbbed. When Orson lifted his eyes, they were cloud dark. 

“If harm comes to you, I will call the full fury of the storm.” 

  
  


 

“Keituu,” smiled Jyn when she saw Cassian’s mount. Holding out her hand, she approached the lean, coal black horse with caution, then recoiled when Keituu snuffed and jerked his head away. 

“Still hates me, I see,” Jyn mumbled, and Cassian make clicking noises with his tongue to calm the animal. 

“He hates everyone.” Cassian smoothed a hand down Keituu’s neck, then flashed Jyn a smile. “Except me, of course.” 

“It’s only because you endlessly bribe him with apples and maple sugar,” scoffed Jyn as she mounted Boreas. “He’s only tolerating you. There’s no love there,” she added with a mischievous lilt in her voice. 

Cassian shrugged and took up the challenge. “A dynamic that you’re very familiar with, no doubt.” He mounted Keituu and shot a sour look toward the palace. 

Jyn flinched. “That was...cruel.” 

Cassian turned his horse and faced Jyn. He seemed genuinely surprised at her reaction. “Forgive me, Jyn.” 

Jyn shifted in the saddle and patted the grey dappled neck of Boreas. Her kinsman’s disapproval hurt, but the greater sting came from the idea that Orson was merely tolerating his Earth wife. That pierced her heart. 

Cassian urged Keituu forward, but Jyn remained. She looked up at the palace, searched the windows, and found no sign of her husband. Closing her eyes, she felt warmth spread through her chest, then branch outward and up into curling tendrils of awareness. Through marble and glass she reached, stretching across luminous floors and reflective walls, until at last she found the light source. The sun and moon and stars as one, very vulnerable, human being. 

She found him, enfolded him, but could not open him to her. Her Kyber hummed against her skin and his form hummed within her awareness. She skimmed his edges, pressed her softness against him, yet he remained as tight as a seed. 

Jyn withdrew with a shaking breath and swallowed against the lump in her throat. When she opened her eyes, she saw Cassian a few yards ahead of her, leisurely riding at a traveller’s pace. She rippled the reins and Boreas started forward without so much as a hitch. 

 

As they passed through the main palace gate, Jyn felt a shift in the humid air. A cool curl of movement, too subtle to be a breeze, unfurled against her bare neck and stirred the wisps of hair at her nape. She focused outward in a rush, as if thrusting out her hand, but there was nothing to grasp. Elusive as a cloud, he had dissolved.

She rode on. 

 

The Scarifian prairie was warmly damp and the tall grasses gave off a wheaty, fermented smell. Sunpoppies that had been tightly closed during the storm were beginning to unfurl, and the vast, rolling slopes were covered in sunset shades of ochre and scarlet. If they maintained their current pace, Jyn and Cassian would reach the Tor just after dark.  

The Tor was a rocky crest that jutted out of the earth where the four realms converged. Some called it The Seat, believing it to be the ruined remains of a structure that once housed a single sovereign of the Elements, but such a thought was widely considered to be blasphemous. As such, it was only spoken of in whispers, and usually after a great quantity of ale. 

Once they reached The Tor, Cassian would turn North to the craig hills and Eadu, and Jyn would return to the East. 

They followed the Star Road; a milky slash across the prairie. Chalk had been sprinkled upon the dirt to brighten the road at night, and to the Skies, it was probably meant to evoke the tail of a comet, but to Jyn it looked like a scar. 

It felt like months had passed since she had first crossed these lands, weaponless and by foot, her heart in her throat for the entire journey. She had followed the pull of her Kyber across two realms, relying on its link with her father, every now and then stopping to refocus and assure herself of her father’s well being. 

Strangely, once she had found her father, the crystal flared at the Emperor’s touch. 

 

“Does he treat you kindly?” asked Cassian.

Jyn felt warmth climb up her cheeks and she looked off to the side. “He’s been very…” She shifted on the saddle. Thinking about Orson whilst riding was an interesting sensory experience. 

“Very what?” pressed Cassian.

If Jyn squeezed her thighs any tighter, Boreas would have broken into a canter. She took a deep breath and relaxed.

“He’s been very kind to me,” she said at last. 

Cassian grunted. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

The afternoon sun blazed hot on Jyn’s forehead and she pulled up her hood. 

“What does he  _ tell  _ you that he wants from us, Jyn?”

“An alliance against Mustafar.”

“Mustafar? His alliance is with them!” 

“It’s...more complicated than that.” 

Cassian lowered his chin and gave Jyn a reproachful look. “No, Jyn, it’s very simple. He wants to strip our mines of Kyber crystals and give them to Lord Vader.”

“He’s buying time with his diplomacy toward Mustafar. He wants to discover how the crystals work so he can use them  _ against _ Vader.” 

“He shouldn’t be using them at all. He should never be allowed to touch one,” said Cassian through his teeth. 

_ But it’s blissful when he does. _

Jyn pressed her lips together and was grateful for her hood wrap, which covered the excited glow of her Kyber. 

“If he wants to start a war with Mustafar, let him do so with his own magic. It is none of our affair,” stressed Cassian. 

“It is now,” replied Jyn. 

Cassian loudly exhaled and looked away. “Your father should have never left Eadu.” 

“I agree. He is too important to our people. That’s why I went after him. That’s why I made the bargain.” 

Cassian was silent, head turned, jaw set. 

“What did my father say when you told him you were coming?” 

“I didn’t.” 

Jyn smiled and shook her head. “It’s a good thing you’re returning so quickly, or else there would be a constant stream of Kyberi crossing these plains to retrieve one another.” 

Cassian hissed a scoff, then grinned. “I didn’t have much of a plan, you know. I had no idea what I was going to say to him.” He reached into the opening of his cloak, into his chest pocket. He took something out, then held out his hand and opened it. In his palm were five small Kyber shards. 

“Cassian!” Jyn scolded, “What possessed you to take those?” 

“If the Emperor had you imprisoned or enslaved what else could I have done? I had to have something to trade for you. These were all I could think of.” 

“You could be put to death for this, you fool,” said Jyn harshly. 

Cassian shrugged, unafraid. “I’m not a common thief, I took them to trade for our leader’s daughter.” He returned the crystals to his pocket. “Your father told our people that Krennic intended to marry you, but I didn’t believe it for a second,” Cassian made a bitter face and cocked his head. “I was wrong, obviously.” 

They rode on in silence for a time, and the heat grew heavy and oppressive as the afternoon deepened. They had left the poppies behind, and now traveled through an open plain of prairie grass and laceflowers, standing motionless in the stagnant heat. 

Finally, Jyn spoke in a soft voice. 

“I always thought he was evil and barbaric. A warlord. But he’s not. He’s…” She wiped her lips with her fingers. “He seeks. He studies. He’s trying to keep balance between the realms. It’s on his shoulders.”

Cassian snorted. “He keeps balance by sending troops?” 

“He sent two envoys first! Do you not recall? We slayed one and wounded the other. We acted without consideration, rashly, against our very nature as children of Earth. We tipped the balance first!” 

Jyn was breathing hard, tears smarting her eyes. Everything she had been taught to believe was being overturned, roots exposed, and there were signs of rot. 

“It could all be an act, you know,” said Cassian gently. 

“Of course it could be. But-” Jyn paused, reluctant. “When I have focused, I have never found deception in him.” 

“Kyber users have told me that deception one of the most difficult things to discern. Especially when there are- other feelings in play.” 

Jyn looked at Cassian. His expression was without reproach, but full of knowing. A hot flush crept up Jyn’s neck into her cheeks and she sniffed and turned her gaze back to the western horizon. 

“I can see the Tor.” 

Through the flame colored haze of sunset, the crown of the Tor appeared. They still had miles to go until they reached the jagged rock, but Cassian slowed Keituu to a plodding walk. Jyn reigned in Boreas as well, and the white spotted grey tensed and shook his head at the indignity of the sluggish pace.

Jyn felt a stab of impatience to return to the palace. She could feel the stretch of miles between her and the Emperor, and it tugged at her center as hunger does. 

She and Cassian spoke little on the last leg of their journey together, and watched as the sun sank below the Tor’s peak, sending streaks of orange across the sky. Gradations of purple and red now colored the horizon, and only a few distant trills of night larks could be heard amongst the soft steps of the horses. 

Twilight deepened from flame to smoke as night spread her cloak across the sky, and one by one, the stars emerged. 

“How does it feel to be one of those?” Cassian asked softly, pointing up toward a particularly bright constellation. 

Jyn looked up. She felt a warm ache spread across her chest, but did not let herself smile like a lovesick maiden. Instead, she gave a little shrug. “It’s a title,” she said neutrally. “A starflower is still rooted to the earth.” 

“Damn right,” grinned Cassian. “What do the Skies call that constellation anyway?” 

“The Bear...Same as we do,” Jyn murmured as her eyes flickered from star to star.

She felt her Kyber hum under her wrap. Gods help her, the pull was starting to hurt. 

 

The white Star Road ended in a faded smear at the foot of the mount. Jyn and Cassian dismounted and led their horses around the northern curve of the Tor to the western slope where a clear, lively stream began its course. There, they let their horses drink. If one continued to travel westward through the Water realm, the stream would expand into the Hoth River and lead to the sea kingdom of Yavin.

Neither looked to the South and the Cinderlands, where the sandstone Fire Road led first to Jedha and then further on until it ended at the blackened peaks of Mustafar. A creeping, virulent air seemed to reach toward them from that realm, and the horses were skittish, even as they drank from the pure, wholesome waters.

There was still much left to be said, but in the strangeness of the crossrealm energy, Jyn and Cassian merely ate a bit of bread and refilled their water skins. When they were ready to turn back to the North, Jyn touched the stream waters to gave thanks, and to remember her fallen teacher with respect. 

 

With every step toward the north face of the Tor, the air cleared, though the warmth from the day lingered.

“Moon’s out at least,” said Cassian as he mounted Keituu, and Jyn looked to the East and saw the glowing crescent. Sky Walker, held in the moon’s grasp, was undimmed by the heat and sparkled white against the darkness. She mounted Boreas, still stargazing, and pushed her hood back to uncover her sweat damp hair. She’d look a mess when she returned to the palace…

Tearing her gaze away from the East and ashamed of her girlish thoughts, Jyn found Cassian looking at her intently. She cleared her throat and nudged Boreas forward to stand next to Keituu. 

“Be careful you don’t kick up too much pollen from those poppies in this heat,” said Cassian in his most authoritative voice. “Those things’ll have you passed out on your mount within minutes. Stick to the road.”

“Yes, I know,” murmured Jyn. 

“And don’t hesitate if you hear another rider. You take out your daggers,” he pointed a finger at Jyn, but she slapped it away and leaned over to embrace him. 

“You’ll tell father I am well?” she choked out.

“I will,” growled Cassian. 

“I’ll come back, Cassian. The Emperor and I will both come to Eadu and we will make peace. I swear.” 

Cassian nodded against her shoulder, then pulled back and quickly kissed her forehead. His beard was soft and scratchy.

“Reach deep,” he mumbled, and turned Keituu northward. 

“Down to stone,” called Jyn through her tears. 

 

She sat for a while, and watched as her friend departed. His dark outline was discernable as he trotted, but when he picked up speed, his form wavered and was swallowed by the night. Jyn could only hear Keituu’s rippling canter and she listened until it diminished, then vanished into the insect hum of midnight. 

She leaned forward and patted Boreas. He had been remarkably patient for a Sky-bred horse. She turned him back to the East, and he eagerly returned to the Star Road, but Jyn halted him one more time. 

“Forgive me, my friend, but I must concentrate,” she murmured, and sat back, closing her eyes.

_ The pull is tightening  _

Panic unfurled through Jyn’s center and her Kyber flared hot. 

_ Not true east, southeast. He’s moving. Further and further away from me.   _

She fought to steady herself.

_ Heartbeat elevated, but normal. No pain. Thank Gods no pain. Tension. Hands tight, neck tight, a pull in the chest. He aches as I do.  _

Jyn’s eyes flew open and she turned Boreas onto the Star Road. Her Kyber shivered against her skin like a leaf caught in a crosswind. 

“Show me how fast a Sky can travel,” she whispered, and dug in her heels. 

Quick as a streak of lightning from the clouds, Jyn’s mount burst into a gallop. She bent forward, clutching the reins and gasping, and the Star Road now seemed like a shooting star underneath her; brilliantly white and blazing. Even in her distress, she couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of flight without ever leaving the earth, the feeling of riding on an airstream through a mountain pass. Her hoodwrap loosened and parted at her neck, and she was a streak of light across the prairie as her Kyber blazed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the term "kinsman", though Jyn and Cassian are not related by blood. I did this because I very much prefer the term over "clansman".


	10. Chapter 10

To the Skies, dawn did not begin with the sun. It began with a star.

They called it _Sativran_ , which meant “herald” in their ancient tongue, and as it glinted over the horizon, Jyn knew she had to make a choice. She could continue East to the palace, or turn southward and follow the pull of her Kyber toward Orson.

Was he leading her into Mustafar as part of some deception? Was she to be an offering to Vader, crystal and all?

She felt no malice in the connection, no furtiveness; only grim determination and the tense, hollow feeling in her chest as the ache of separation tethered them both.

 

Boreas huffed underneath her, still thundering along the Star Road, and Jyn’s neck and back were stiff from the effort of clinging to the reins at such a pace. She had little food and only half a skin of water. No provisions for her mount whatsoever. To journey into the parched, brutal Fire realm this way would be the height of stupidity.

Could she dismount and continue on foot? She may be able to last a week if she found a water source near the border…

 

A blurred, dark shape came into view against the dawn horizon. Jyn blinked and narrowed her eyes, then tightened the reins to slow Boreas.

Two shapes; a lone rider with a small companion bird that swooped erratically across the sky. A kestrel.

A tight swirl of joy coiled within Jyn’s chest, then dissolved as she realized it could not be Orson. The rider came from the East, and the pull was centered South.

Boreas now trotted smoothly, and Jyn readied herself. The rider, having seen her approach, picked up speed, and the kestrel’s sharp trill split the silence of morning.

It was a man, clothed in light, silvery armor and riding a cream colored horse. His right hand was upheld in a gesture of peace.

Jyn halted Boreas and reached for her daggers.

“Your Majesty, I have been sent by the Emperor!” called the man, and held up his other hand. His mount shook its head and slowed to a halt. Jyn examined the rider’s face and found it familiar. Handsome, with downward curved eyes not unlike her husband’s, and a wheat colored mustache.

“Lord Merrick,” she exclaimed.

He dismounted and knelt on the chalk road before her.

“Forgive my correction, Your Majesty, but I am now made General Merrick, head of the imperial palace guard. I have been sent to accompany the Bright Star back to the palace and ensure her safety.”

“Please stand, this formality is not necessary,” said Jyn, still clutching her weapons.

Merrick stood, his knee dusted white, and took a breath.

“Tell me what has happened, General. Why does the Emperor travel to Mustafar?”

Merrick’s eyes widened and he blinked in amazement. “He- He does not travel to Mustafar, your majesty. Only to Lord Draven’s keep at the southern border of Scarif.”

Jyn recalled the scowling nobleman at the council meeting.

“His majesty received an urgent message just before sunset. How did you know he had left the palace?” asked Merrick.

“Nevermind, please. Why was he called to Lord Draven?”

The general’s brow darkened and he glanced toward the South. “There was an attack on the keep. Likely by stray Fire scum, but Draven has requested additional troops as well as the Emperor’s presence. His majesty left the palace with two centuria, and he commanded five more guard the palace itself.

“Five hundred soldiers guard the palace?” blurted Jyn in amazement. “Are we at war?”

“No, Your Majesty, it’s merely an uprising that requires suppression. The High Star simply did not want to take any chances with you being alone and unprotected.”

“Apparently not…Though I hardly feel safer this way.”

“The soldiers stand guard along the far perimeter of the palace grounds. They will not impede your daily routine.”

“Such as it is,” mumbled Jyn, holstering her daggers.

“Your Majesty, if I may take a moment? The Emperor commanded me to inform him of your safety as soon as I found you.”

Lifting his gloved arm, Merrick gave a sharp whistle. A chirp answered him, and the kestrel veered and swooped downward. It alighted on his arm, bobbing restlessly and flicking its tail feathers.

The General reached into a travel pouch at his waist and took out a bit of parchment, no bigger than an elm leaf. He also took out a piece of glass; short, but reed-like in it’s shape. It was filled with black ink and tipped with a pointed bit of silvery metal.

Merrick looked toward the East at the position of the rising sun, then made a few marks on the parchment with the glass reed.

Jyn pulled her hood up and tucked in her hair while Merrick slid the message into a tiny leather cylinder and tied it to the kestrel’s leg. He clicked and whistled and the kestrel cocked its head, its black eyes alert, then flashed upward into the pale sky.

“Such a tiny little thing,” mused Jyn, watching the kestrel flutter and glide southward.

“A small target with a sharp eye is more difficult to bring down.”

Jyn smiled to herself. She knew this to be true firsthand.

“I shall ride at full speed, but I must beg your Majesty to follow me, as Tyche cannot keep up with Boreas,” said Merrick with a pat on his mount’s neck.

Jyn gave him a nod, then tilted her head with curiosity. Merrick’s kind eyes showed recognition. “Yes, your Majesty?”

“Only two days ago I knew you as Lord Merrick. Now you are made General. What brought on this sudden promotion?”  

“After the attempt on your life by a palace guard, General Corssin was removed from service. I was informed after the counsel meeting that I was to take his place.”

Jyn studied Merrick’s face for a moment. There was gentleness in him. Reticence. Reaching out tentatively, Jyn picked up the dull ache of an old wound in his left side. This man should be relaxed in front of a fire, not riding cross realm missions and commanding troops.

“I am sorry,” said Jyn softly.

Merrick straightened in the saddle and lifted his chin. “I am closest in blood relation to the Emperor, and His Majesty trusts me. It is a great honor to serve him.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A group of handmaidens was assembled at the palace entrance, but it was Moth who came forward with light, hurrying steps to escort Jyn inside.

Jyn found herself breaking into a grateful smile at seeing her friend and had an impulse to embrace her, but Moth curtseyed, looking fresh and pale clean, and Jyn was sweat drenched and gritty with road dust.

“My lady, we are very pleased you are safe.” Moth rose and smiled. “I’ll have a bath ready for you directly, and we shall send food to your room.” She lifted a graceful arm and signaled to the handmaidens, who scattered like birds.

Jyn rolled her stiff neck and shoulders as she climbed the marble stairs. “How long is the journey to Lord Draven’s keep?”

“A day and a bit,” answered Moth.

_A few hours at a gallop, then._

“Boreas needs a rest and I need provisioning, but I would like to set out again before midday.”

Moth stopped and laid a hand on Jyn’s arm, and Jyn turned and met her eyes.

“My lady, I beg you not to travel to the keep. The Emperor gave specific orders that you were to remain at the palace.”

“Of course he did,” replied Jyn, her tone jagged.

Moth continued in her rich, warm voice. “Please consider; concerns about your safety would be a distraction to his majesty, and he needs his full wits about him.”

Moth was right, of course, and Jyn knew it. The tugging ache at her center pained her. But Orson’s energy was steady, and he was well.

At least for now.

Jyn breathed a deep sigh and frowned at Moth, then turned back toward the palace and continued to ascend the steps.

“I have received direction to add a dose of shellwort to your tea,” said Moth, low and discreet. “I was unsure of the exact amount needed so you will find the powder in a covered dish on your tray.”

Jyn’s brows lowered and she gave a sideways glance at Moth, who spread out her white hands, open-palmed.

“They say...I have always heard that it takes a bit more for Earth women.”

“We are not a different _species_ , Moth.”

“Of course. I beg your forgiveness.”

Jyn took Moth’s hand and squeezed gently. “Please don’t. I am as guilty as anyone of having misconceptions. Although-” She looked up as they entered the palace, and saw the starry ceiling through a haze of tenderness. “The Emperor seems to be an exception.”

Shards of morning sunlight pierced the cloud cover and shone through the high windows, making the silvery designs flash and sparkle.

“He took me in when I had nowhere else to go,” said Moth in a near whisper. “I was a wretched, flame-haired refugee from Jedha. I breathed smoke and spat out cinders. I had not blood in my veins but acid and poison.”

Jyn looked at Moth, whose chin was still lifted as she gazed at the ceiling. The corners of her eyes were wet.

“At least that’s what I had been told.”

“By whom?” demanded Jyn.

Moth met her eyes. “By a Hoth river farmer, by an Eaduian woman, by a Kyberi sentinel.”

Jyn pressed her lips together and looked down. Ashamed.

“Respectively,” added Moth, and Jyn looked back up to see her sad smile.

“I was captured crossing into Scarif and brought before the Emperor. I was not the only one. I crouched on the cold marble, my body as small and as low as I could bend, and he told me to stand. He told us all to stand.”

Her voice frayed and she paused and wiped her eyes.

 _“Stand. The sky will hold you.”_   

 

Jyn stood with her friend, silent, and watched as the sunbeams softened, then vanished. The stars receded into shadow.

Finally, she spoke. “I am too ignorant, Moth. It’s inexcusable.”

Moth made a soft sound of protest, but Jyn continued. “I give you leave to visit the library and gather several books that would educate me on Fire culture. Histories, lore, even children’s stories. Choose the ones you feel are most helpful.”

“I’d be honored to do so,” said Moth. A soft radiance lit up her face, and her eyes ignited with eagerness.

“Although,” continued Jyn, “If some are written in Jedhaic, I’ll have to ask you to translate.”

Moth shook her head gently. “That won’t be necessary. His majesty spent years translating Jedhaic texts into Common. I will bring you his works.”

Jyn felt as if strong fingers wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She envisioned her husband, bent over ancient tomes, a low candle burning, scratching out translations deep into the night.

“I assume you helped with the translations?”

“I did, yes. As did Rook.”

“Rook?”

“Head gardener.” Moth gestured toward the back gardens. “Also a refugee from Jedha.”

Jyn suppressed the urge to exclaim over a Fire born gardener, and instead reminded herself of the vibrant health of the gardens.

“My combat tutor traveled to Jedha in his youth,” said Jyn, turning toward the main staircase. “He said it was harsh country, but the spiritual energy made it beautiful.”

“It is beautiful,” murmured Moth. “Or at least it was.”

“Why would Vader oppress his own people? What purpose could it possibly serve?”

“Exerting power over others feeds the will,” said Moth simply.

Jyn’s mouth curled down in disgust as she tried to make sense of insanity. “It’s a perversion of the province of Fire,” she muttered.  

Moth stopped at the base of the stairs and tilted her head, her smoky eyes wandering as she gathered her thoughts. “Fire is force of will, but it must tempered by spiritual practice. If spirituality is corrupted or ignored, the will holds dominion. Like wildfire it will spread, and consume all other senses.”

Jyn winced as dread unfurled within her. The Emperor was taking a great chance. Intellect had little strength against unchecked will.

“I do not know what corrupted Vader,” continued Moth. “I do not even know what he is, exactly. He is more monster than human, I believe. Some say he is an obsidian golem, spat out by one of the flame mountains. Some say he is just a man who was twisted by his own insatiable will to power.”

She lowered her voice. “Some say that he traveled to Yavin in his youth and fell in love with a Water highborn.”

Jyn raised her eyebrows. “Obviously that didn’t end well.”

Moth gave Jyn a knowing look, and they climbed the stairs together.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The bath water had cooled an hour ago, yet Jyn remained, rolling her Kyber between her fingers and staring at the sky through the windows. She usually enjoyed stillness and silence, but there was no peace in this moment; only stagnation. The sky was hot, cloud locked and yellowish, and the silk curtains did not stir.

Everything waited.  

She focused outward, found his light, and held it in her center. She palpated it.

_Pulse slightly elevated, but breath steady. Tension across the neck and shoulders. Aching chest, tight center. Worry._

Same as all the other times she had checked, only that afternoon.

Jyn released the strand and sighed, then ran her hands over the surface of the water. She had to be wary. Repeatedly focusing was beginning to exhaust her, and she was already strained from her journey.

There was something else, too. Something that weighed her down and made her mind restless and vague. Something that made her continue to watch the sky with a glassy, slow blinking stare, sigh yet again, and wonder if she could bear to wait a few hours before another focus.

She knew she had retreated into sullenness. She was now very aware of that tendency, and it carried with it the memory of his voice, hot against her ear, and his thumb sliding along her lower lip.

_“Open that sullen little mouth of yours”_

Jyn covered her face with her hands and groaned. She had spent her whole life studying the reflection of emotions on the physical body, and her self-diagnosis yielded one conclusion.

Lovesick.

 

She stood up quickly with a cascading splash and reached for the drying cloth. Being immersed in water wasn’t doing her any favors. It always intensified her emotions and blurred her reason. Bowing her head, Jyn wrapped her hair in the cloth and squeezed, then rubbed vigorously. Right now she needed discipline, focus. A routine. She stepped out of the basin and willed herself to not look toward the shining glass shower chamber as she put on her dressing gown.

She had wanted to run combat drills that afternoon, but Moth had informed her that training clothes were not yet ready, and the weaponsmith needed more time to balance the quarterstaff. She would have to wait until tomorrow.

 _Just give me a damn broom handle_ , thought Jyn, now in a full fledged sulk as she exited the washroom.

Averting her eyes from the luxurious but empty bed, she looked instead at the desk in the far corner where Moth had stacked several large books; the Emperor’s translations of Fire lore. Jyn hesitated, as if stabilizing herself against an oncoming wave, then approached the desk with slow, stalking steps.

He wouldn’t have sat to transcribe these, but stood, perhaps periodically stopping to shake out his cramped hand or roll his neck. It would have taken great control to channel his vigorous energy into tight, pristine script to last the ages.

Jyn opened the topmost book and saw the slanted writing from a strong left hand. The lettering was immaculate, but at times, the words would begin to crescent upward, curving toward the summit of the page, only to start earthbound once again on the next line. Orson must have been conscious of this, and strived repeatedly to correct it.

Jyn ran her fingertips over the words, now feeling the wave swell within her chest until her kyber rippled with light.

He was going to need her help.

His diplomatic aspirations, his fanciful hopes, his soaring ambitions would carry him too close to the flame. When the intellect failed, and it _would_ eventually fail, physical strength would be needed; the province of Earth.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there <3 Next chapter will be more fun ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Her cheeks burned and sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She wiped her forehead on her arm, pushing damp hair out of her eyes, and took her stance to begin the drill once again. 

Left downward root. Right downward root. Left center trunk. Right center trunk. Left upward branch. Right upward branch. Crown. Source. 

Eight staff strikes, always ending with a sharp exhalation as Jyn landed the final blow toward the ground. A Kyberi fighter had to be careful to break focus during a fight, or the physical pain of the opponent would overwhelm them. The eighth strike to the spine was especially powerful, and an open link would cause an attacker to black out entirely. A state of dormancy could last anywhere from fifteen minutes to several hours, and the fighter would be completely vulnerable during that span. 

Settling into a steady whirl of staff spins, Jyn promised herself that she would speak with Merrick. She needed sparring partners. Battle trained Skies were light on their feet and notoriously difficult to hit. They were adept at archery and the short sword, and Jyn had limited practice against such weaponry. There was also the element of improvisation, of which her teacher, Imwe, had been a master. He would almost relax into fighting; flowing in between opponents as water does between stones, and improvisation was impossible without a partner. 

She began the sequence again. Left root, right root, left trunk, right trunk, left branch, right branch. Crown. Source. 

Again. This time, vaulting herself from the stability of the final stance into a sweeping crescent kick. Once her left foot found the earth, Jyn lifted the staff and spun counterclockwise in a vicious head strike, then landed, crouched and panting. 

Morning had not yet passed, and already the birds had gone quiet. It was going to be another oppressive day, windless and suffocating under a dome of heat. 

Looking up, Jyn searched the sky for a break in the clouds. Just a glimpse of his blue, that’s all she wanted…But the sky remained closed in stillness. A hot, sickly ivory. 

She huffed out a long breath and bowed her head. The exhilaration she usually felt during drills eluded her. Though her movements had strength, she felt as if she had been wounded, and deep weariness had set in because of the wound. 

Again. Root, trunk, branch, crown, source.

He was still to the south, unmoving, and no closer to her. Still unhurt, but with a weariness that matched her own. 

Root, trunk, branch, crown, source. 

Again. 

Again. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“My lady please eat something,” coaxed Moth as she loosened a snarl in Jyn’s freshly washed hair. Jyn blinked and straightened herself. She had been staring, glassy eyed, at a silver blue celestite orb that decorated her vanity table. She reached for the fork on the tray and cut a large chunk from the potato tart, then put her hand under her chin as she shoved the whole bite into her mouth.

“Goodness,” laughed Moth, and Jyn returned her gaze to the orb and chewed without tasting. 

“You were up at first dawn this morning and went out before I could attend to you. Did you sleep well last night?” 

She did not. She slept as she had for the past four nights; seated with her head in her arms, and a Jedhaic history book still spread open before her. She had dreamt of lightning, and wind-tossed trees, and Orson’s lips against her neck. 

“Well enough,” Jyn answered, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. With deft motherliness, Moth picked up the embroidered linen square from the tray and handed it to Jyn, then ran the brush through her hair one last time.

“There. We’ll let that dry a bit more before I pin it up.” 

Jyn nodded, lost in silver blue. 

She hadn’t focused on the link since early morning, and now it was past noon, but she was determined to not check again until evening. 

Her fingertips drummed on the shining surface of the vanity table. 

She would  _ not _ . 

A faint glow emerged from the kyber and was reflected in the orb. The rippling tap of Jyn’s fingertips quickened, spreading the pulse through her body where it mingled with another, stronger beat. It throbbed throughout her blood in a galloping rhythm. 

Moth almost dropped the hairbrush as Jyn bolted up from her chair.

“Orson is riding. He’s…”

The kyber flashed as if struck by sunlight.

“He rides for the palace.”

“My lady, we’ve had no word! He would have sent a kest-”

The rest was lost, for Jyn had already darted out of the room and down the hall. Silver and gold  blurred past in metallic smears as she sped down vast hallways, feet bare and skirts in hand, springing corners like a leaping deer. 

She flew down the grand staircase and sprinted for the front palace entrance. She had to pull back while the guards opened the heavy, elaborate doors, but once freed she burst through the opening onto the marble walk of the outer entrance. 

 

Eyes wide and heart pounding, Jyn scanned the grounds to the East and South. She could make out the garrison of white clad soldiers in a broad circle beyond the outer gates, but no other movement beyond. No lone rider kicking up clouds of chalk dust. No dark shapes along the wheat gold horizon.

The rolling cadence still galloped through Jyn’s chest. The tightness of the pull was easing. Subtly, like a dream. As she stood, breathed and focused all of her thought into the link, she knew it was true. 

He was coming back to her. 

Along the edges of her awareness, Jyn could hear the faint pattering of slippered footsteps behind her as Moth emerged from the palace. 

“My lady, we have received no word of the Emperor’s return, but I assure you I will inform you as soon as we do,” she said in a breathless rush. 

Jyn caught sight of a small bird gliding across the hot, bright sky. 

“There, “ she said, and pointed at the kestrel. 

Moth looked up, squinting, and her features softened as wonder crossed her face. 

“I’ll go at once to the guardkeep and retrieve the message from General Merrick.” 

“He is unharmed and he rides at a gallop from the southeast. How long before he arrives?” Jyn’s words tumbled out, fluttering like falling leaves. 

Moth took a moment, her eyes shifting rapidly as she calculated. “Assuming His Majesty rides from Draven’s Keep, he should be here before nightfall. But how-” 

“Thank you, Moth,” said Jyn with a wide smile. “I shall be in the gardens for the rest of the afternoon.” 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Jyn lifted the chin of the violet and examined its face. It was cream colored with a spray of yellow in the center, not richly purple like the violets of the Eaduian forests. She crouched down further, on her hands and knees, and breathed in. The flower was languishing in the late afternoon heat, but its scent was amplified. It had the fleeting, sweet muskiness of the dark ones, but also a crisp freshness. Like sliced apple. The leaves were heart shaped and scalloped, and Jyn snapped off an edge and tasted.

Less potent. A possible blood thinning effect, but it would have to be concentrated by boiling. 

Pressing the soil away from the plant with careful fingers, she lifted the violet from its bed at the edge of an oak grove. Jyn extended her palm under the plant and her Kyber warmed slightly as the delicate, blonde roots stretched downward. Rook shifted beside her, and his mouth parted in amazement. 

“Did you just-” 

Jyn smiled slightly and continued to examine the plant. 

“Can you-” Rook cleared his throat, then pointed a finger groundward. “Can you will them to do anything you wish?” 

Jyn recoiled, then reined in her visible disgust. “ _ Will _ them? Certainly not.” Projecting one’s will upon another living thing was abhorrent to her. Fire sorcery at its worst. “I  _ ask _ them, and sometimes they comply.”

There were no signs of stress or disease in the plant. Jyn set the violet back into the earth, covered the roots, then placed her palm onto the soil. Her Kyber warmed again as she urged the roots downward to anchor. 

Looking back at Rook, Jyn could see an aura of fear about him. His jaw was tight, and his eyes cast to the side as some dark memory shadowed his features. He was wary of Fire magic as well. 

When Jyn spoke, her voice was strong and deliberate. 

“This patch should not be moved. The oaks are lending their strength to them. They’ll spread more quickly in the open, but blooms will be few, and the roots will soften.” 

The directive seemed to ground Rook once again, and his reverie dissolved. “That was my feeling as well.” 

Jyn stood up and brushed bits of grass off her simple, brown dress. That is, as simple as a palace seamstress could make. It still had ribbon edged sleeves and a nonsense bit of lace about the neckline, but at least it was more sensible than a silk gown. 

“If you take a measure of soil from this area and add it to the sorrel beds, it will intensify the flavor. Do you cultivate purslane? Or is it gathered wild?” 

“Both. The golden is cultivated, but the red stemmed won’t tolerate it.” 

“They will if you mix this soil with sand and keep the plants surrounded by gravel.” 

Jyn walked towards the pathway that led to the herb gardens, ignoring the elegant statues that lined the path and focusing on the ground. 

“The yellow lichen at the base of that stone-” she began.

“Candelaria.” 

“Yes, that’s it. Thank you. I’ve seen drawings of it, but it does not grow in Eadu.” 

“It’s plentiful in the Cinderlands. I’ve been trying to grow it here with limited success.”

“Does it have medicinal value?”

“Not that I’ve found. I suppose I just…” Rook trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. 

“It reminds you of home,” offered Jyn. 

Rook’s large, dark eyes flashed at Jyn, then lowered. She wanted to comfort him, to say that she understood, but something prevented her. Rook was different than Moth, with her gentle, steady brightness. Rook was like torchlight in a cave. A defiant flame against profound depths of shadow. He had seen something in his past. Something horrific. It had left scars behind his eyes. 

So she said nothing, and continued to walk, and listened to her footsteps on the path and the gallop within her chest. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A glowing haze of afternoon brightness lingered on as the sun descended into the west. The air remained still and heavy with heat, and Jyn felt the full weight of it as she roamed the gardens. 

She had dismissed Rook hours ago, and now walked alone, pausing only to touch the reassuring roughness of treebark or smell an unfamiliar wildflower. 

There was no relief, no way to reconcile the stillness around her with the thundering movement within. She could only walk, and take comfort in the green places, wandering from the meticulously kept inner gardens to the outer edges where wildness crept in, and then back again. 

Earth patience had abandoned her. Her thoughts were frantic and troublesome. Perhaps she was just another subject to be studied; obsessed over for a short time before the Emperor had learned all there was to know. She fascinated him, that was clear, but she was a novelty. A darker, richer flavor than what he was used to. It was only a matter of time before he tired of her. Then she would be shelved in a dark corner, gathering dust while he flitted to another, and another…

_ What does it matter? _ Jyn countered to herself, in a heavy, forced thought. 

_ It matters because you love him.  _

She exhaled and looked skyward, blinking away the sting of tears. A faint hum from her kyber brought her back to senses and she gratefully centered her mind on the link. 

The galloping rhythm subsided, then stopped, and Jyn’s pounding heart took its place. 

He had arrived. 

Jyn paused, took a shaking breath, then turned eastward and walked with purpose toward the palace. 

Her hair was tangled and loose, and she had taken off her slippers an hour ago. She didn’t remember where she had left them. In the woods, perhaps. Her dress and hair smelled like grass and her hands of soil. She could have waited within. She could have put on one of her magnificent gowns and done up her hair in Sky style with upswept curls and ornaments. She could have stationed herself in the grand entrance hall to welcome her husband home in a proper, formal manner.

Perhaps she should have. 

 

She crossed a vast lawn, came to the temple and climbed the steps. If she took the secret passage she may still have time to change-

Jyn stopped, mid step, and turned around. 

Facing the open gardens before her, she saw no one, but felt a subtle shift along the edges of the sky. She looked up and saw the top of the treeline begin to stir. Heart shaped poplar leaves trembled, then swayed, their undersides flashing silver as a blast of wind struck them. Jyn watched as the wind gained strength, bent the treetops, then rushed toward her like a living thing. 

She closed her eyes and held out her arms. 

The gust was like a cold, clear stream flowing over her. It lifted her hair and swirled her skirts around her ankles. It curled around her arms, stroking her skin with coolness, and Jyn’s breath hitched as she shivered with delight. A brisk current encircled her neck, then splayed across her skin like smooth, strong fingers. 

A rushing torrent was in her ears and her eyes remained closed as she tried desperately to 

find him, but he was cloaked by magic. It was all around her.  _ He _ was all around her. 

Her awareness was caught in the thrall of his spell and carried in spiraling gusts, plunging downward to graze the tips of the grass, then ascending in a rush to the tops of the poplars where it flung seeds of starlight into the sky. 

Blissfully soaring, Jyn suddenly felt dizzy, and swayed, and held out a hand to steady herself, but instead of touching a hard marble column, a warm, gloved hand enclosed hers. 

Jyn’s eyes flew open, but she saw only a blur of white before Orson wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She tilted her chin up and parted her lips. 

His kiss was a wild, ravenous thing. He slanted his mouth over hers, sucking at her bottom lip, striking her tongue with his while Jyn drowned in sensation. She was inundated by his excitement. It crashed against hers in wave rhythms, matching their lips and tongue and shared breaths. His hand still held hers, and she squeezed it, and felt him tighten his embrace as the wind swelled around them in ecstatic surges. 

The ache within her chest was gone, filled to overflowing, but another ache now bloomed between her legs. She wrenched her hand free of his and reached up. She found the ruffled curls at his neck and drove her fingers into them. 

Another blast of wind whipped his cape and Orson broke the kiss, then whirled Jyn into a sharp turn as he pulled them both into the shelter of the temple.

The solid stone wall at her back was a keen contrast to the living storm against her. Her breath hitched as she felt Orson’s lips on her neck, then his teeth. He yanked at the delicate neckline of her dress, tore it, then pushed it off her shoulder where he bit and sucked. 

Jyn was frantic, panting. She found his hand and tugged off his glove, then gasped as his rough fingertips traced the thin skin along her collarbone. Her head lolled to the side, and he cupped her cheek in his broad palm and dragged a thick thumb across her lips. 

His own lips were sliding up the side of her neck, and Jyn whimpered and took his thumb in her mouth. A howling blast of wind rushed through the temple opening, but she still heard Orson’s growl as she sucked hard. 

When he spoke, his voice was a hot murmur that coursed over her skin. “Sky magic can break free from time to time. It happens when I can’t concentrate.”

Jyn was in a dreamy haze, only half listening. She tested him with her teeth, and he responded with a sharp nip below her ear. Jyn gasped and Orson pulled back, quickly removed his other glove, then slid a massive hand around the nape of her neck.

The kyber pulsed and cast heartbeats of light across Orson’s face, showing deep lines and glittering, midnight eyes.

“Do you realize what madness you’ve brought me to? My allies depend on me to be clear headed and focused, but all I can think about is  _ you _ .”

Jyn made an impatient sound, gripped his shoulders, and braced herself against the wall. 

“You’re a sorceress, that’s what you are,” he said as he brought his other hand to her skirts, pulling them up roughly. 

“They sent their Earth witch to torment me. This is how I am to be conquered.” 

Jyn raised her thigh and he caught her, lifting her legs so she could wrap them around his waist. She felt his hand between them, felt it fumble with his clothes, and she reached down as well, impatient. 

A heavy, ragged sound came from Orson’s throat as she took him in her grip. Jyn fitted him to her, moaning softly as he pressed into her. 

Orson seized her wrist and pinned it to the wall, then drove into her. White hot pleasure streaked through Jyn and she cried out and tightened her legs. 

“I can feel how close you are…” His voice was frayed, now. Rough as a winter storm. It lifted the hairs on the back of Jyn’s neck and made her clench around him. 

“You missed me, didn’t you? Say it.” 

She twisted and whimpered, wanting to be closer to him, but Orson growled and thrust into her harder. 

“Say it.” 

His voice was so deep it sank into her skin.

“ _ Say it. _ ” 

She shuddered and clenched fiercely as release broke over her, and at last Orson freed her wrist and let her collapse forward. 

“I missed you,” she exhaled, melting, pulsing around him. 

His reply was a soft, vulnerable sound, as if he were wounded, and Jyn gathered fistfulls of his cape and clung to him as he throbbed inside her. 

They held each other, hearts pounding, until their breath calmed. 

Jyn turned her burning face away as Orson withdrew from her, and she slowly untangled herself from her husband, sliding down while his broad hand supported her backside, then fixing her skirts while he cleared his throat and put his own clothing in order. 

No sound of wind came from the temple entrance, and Jyn took a few cautious steps from the shadows and peered out. All was still, but the cloud cover had been split and shards of night blue and evening pink shone through. The air was clean and cool. 

Her shyness abated, Jyn turned back. Orson’s lips were in a concentrative pout as he pulled on his gloves.

She had so much to say to him. A hidden spring welling up behind layers of protective rock. 

“You need food,” was all she could manage. 

“Food and a bath,” he replied.

He rolled his shoulders, then turned to Jyn and held out a hand. “We’ll take the back garden entrance. The torch lighters will be about.” 

Jyn hesitated, searching his face, searching his blood. His sudden formality was a shield, of course, but she could not discern what he was protecting. 

Orson cleared his throat again, and his hand contracted slightly. He was silent, but his eyes pleaded with her. Jyn held out her hand, and he grasped it and turned to lead them out of the temple, but as they cleared the arch he stopped.

He lifted her hand, turning it gently, and pressed his lips into her palm. He breathed words against her skin, but they were soft as featherdown and she could not hear them. 

Jyn closed her eyes for a moment, then she felt him tug at her, and she followed him down the steps and toward the palace, hands held, linked together. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The Emperor didn’t break his rapid stride as he approached the palace doors. They swung open laboriously, and with a nervous turn of her stomach, Jyn caught sight of the retinue within. 

She squeezed her husband’s hand and Orson slowed a little, pulling Jyn forward to his side and releasing her hand to slide his arm around her waist. 

Entering together, they were accosted on both sides; the Emperor by a concerned and expectant General Merrick, and Jyn by a gaggle of handmaidens. 

“My lady, we have laid out a dress for evening,” said Moth smoothly, stepping forward. She extended her arm, hand cupped, and her eyes flickered to Jyn’s neckline. 

Jyn looked down, then felt the blood rush to her cheeks. 

“Oh, I...must have...” she stammered, and brought her hands up to try and hide the torn lace. 

In the corner of her eye, she saw Orson glance downward, and quick as a breeze he unfastened his cape and whirled it around her shoulders. 

Moth spoke again, “My lady-”

“Your Majesty-” Merrick insisted, addressing the Emperor. 

Orson’s strong, stern voice cut through the room. “General, the information you received in my message should be sufficient, for the time being.” He shot a cautionary glare at Merrick, who swallowed and gave a stiff bow.

“Prepare the Dining Hall for supper. We’ll have music in the Cloud Room as well,” Orson declared. He leaned toward Jyn and lowered his voice. “Put on that black gown you wore the night of the ball.” 

His words rolled over Jyn in a seductive rumble and her response was acute. He was always touching her, stroking her, without laying a hand on her. She took a breath and gave her husband a pointed look.

“We have much to discuss, my lord,” she said, low and deliberate. 

Orson met her gaze with shifting, overcast colors. 

Jyn softened her body and pressed closer to her husband, but inside her will was set. Hard as stone. 

“Moth, send supper to my chamber, please. We won’t require anything else tonight,” she said, still gazing up at the Emperor. 

There was a pause while Moth weighed the contradictory orders, then Orson gave a consenting wave of his hand and sent the servants into flight. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Emperor took his time bathing and dressing, which was just as well for Jyn, who wanted to change and get her thoughts in order before supper. Having dismissed the servants, she paced around the table, small but impeccably set, and kept an eye on the silver door to the chamber passage.

She wore the dress Orson had requested and put her hair up, though it bared her neck and showed the pinkish blooms where his mouth had marked her. Despite her best efforts, her mind was a cyclone of whirling questions and excited thoughts. When the handle of the door clicked and turned, she smoothed her skirts and positioned herself next to the table in a desperate attempt to appear in control. Curtains rippled as a cool breeze flowed into the room. Watching the Emperor cross from light to shadow and back again into the candlelit glow of the table, Jyn had half a mind to forget everything and go to him. To rumple his damp, slicked hair and taste his water scented skin.

His presence had a kinetic effect. Everything was movement and freshness and excitement once again. Jyn’s heart fluttered and light danced and swirled within her crystal. 

Pressing her lips together, she turned and gestured toward the table, and Orson responded with the deep, soft sound of amusement that she loved. 

“Please sit,” she said, while her husband continued to approach her. “I have some ideas for the gardens...I can go over them while you eat…” 

He stopped, inches away from her, and leaned down to grasp the back of her chair.

“Allow me,” he murmured, and pulled the chair back from the table. 

_ Don’t look up, don’t breathe in. There will be time later.  _

“Thank you,” said Jyn, and lowered herself into the chair. 

Mercifully, Orson walked to the other side of the table and sat, but as Jyn’s eyes met his, she felt a pulse between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together and cast her gaze downward, then reached for her wine glass. After taking a very unladylike gulp for courage, Jyn launched into an organized, detailed report. 

The Emperor ate and drank as she spoke, shoulders twitching intermittently, hands restless. At times he cocked his head, bird-like, aware and interested. He made sounds in his throat to agree and urge Jyn to continue, and his mouth would tug to one side as if connected to a string.

It was fascinating to watch him receive information, taste it, devour it. Sharing knowledge was a sensual experience for him. 

At last, Orson set down his wineglass and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap, but he did not speak. The rapid shuffling and organizing of his thoughts was visible to Jyn; the play of light within his eyes, the way his mouth tightened as he swallowed. So she let him have a moment, and watched him, and waited.

“It may be easier for you to tell me what you already know,” he said finally. 

“I know next to nothing,” replied Jyn. “General Merrick told me that you had gone to Draven’s Keep to suppress some sort of rebellion?” 

“Not a rebellion. A test.”

Jyn narrowed her eyes. “Merrick said they were stray Fire rebels.”

“They seemed as such, until they began to fall.”

“I don’t-” she shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Orson cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his seat. A gust of wind lifted the curtains and candle flames bent and sputtered. 

“They wore obsidian underneath their clothing.” 

Jyn felt a sickening swirl in the pit of her stomach. “They were armored with it?” 

Orson nodded grimly. “Chest plates,” he said, and splayed a broad hand over his own chest. 

The realization was quick and sharp. 

“Protecting their lungs,” said Jyn.  

The Emperor’s eyes darkened to slate.“You were right to be suspicious of The Void, Jyn.”

“They turned on you?” 

“No, but they posed a danger to me. There’s something about that armor. The obsidian. It repels magic.”

Jyn’s knowledge of stone lore was vast, but obsidian was unique to Mustafar, and little was known about its properties, even to the highest Earth shaman. 

“Black stones...They tend to absorb rather than repel...” she puzzled, eyes scanning the floor. 

“All I know is it lessened the effectiveness of my spells. I could still manipulate air currents around the enemy, but I could not take their breath.” 

Jyn closed her eyes and exhaled. Being right about the Void brought her no satisfaction. Only dread. “Where are The Void, now?” she asked cautiously. 

“I destroyed them.” 

Jyn’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. She looked at her husband, whose return gaze was direct and lustrous. Mercilessly clear. 

“You-”

“Split lightning. I wish you could have been there to see it, it was beautiful.” 

Jyn felt a startling, sensual response to the Emperor’s words, his delighted pride, his elegance and violence. 

“Vader wears obsidian,” she said, trying to gain a foothold on her senses. 

“Yes,” replied Orson. “He’s fully encased in it.”

Jyn tilted her head. “How is he able to cast Fire magic?”

Orson rolled the stem of the wineglass between his fingers and light winked through the garnet red liquid. “Surely as an Earth, you know how obsidian is formed?” 

“Cooled river fire,” murmured Jyn. “So, it absorbs other elemental magic in order to enhance Fire magic. It uses magic as-” She swallowed and met Orson’s eyes.

“As fuel,” he said casually, lifting his glass.  

Jyn absorbed the information and watched her husband take another sip of wine. He set down the glass and wiped his mouth against his knuckles. Back and forth. There was a momentary pause, then he gave a shrug of nonchalance.

“My troops were effective, nonetheless. We beat back the Fires into full retreat. They scattered like sparks.” The last said with a proud chuckle. 

“But now you are at war with Vader,” said Jyn darkly. 

Another shrug. “Not necessarily. As I said, he was testing me.” 

Jyn leaned forward and lay a hand on the table as if touching her husband’s arm. 

“Orson, come with me to Eadu. Ask my father for help.”

There was a moment of softness, of consideration, but it vanished when the Emperor frowned and shook his head. 

“Perhaps soon, but right now I cannot leave Scarif. I have meetings to arrange. I must gather Sky leaders together-”

“Then I will go to Eadu.”

“ _ No! _ ” he shot back. His eyes flashed winter blue. Howling blue. “You will not leave me again.” 

Jyn should have felt threatened. She should have bristled and argued, but all she felt instead was aching tenderness. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, and enclosed her pendant in her hand. 

Orson watched her for a moment, severity melting away from him. When he spoke, it was in his lowest, most intimate tone.

“Your Kyber is not your heart. Why do you protect it so?” 

_ I should have protected my heart better. _

“You said-” Jyn let go of her Kyber and a subtle glow lit up her skin. Orson tilted his head, his expression now soft and receptive. “You said that you...thought about me. When you were away...”

A pointed, sly smile. “Did I say that?” 

Jyn’s hands were flat on the table and her fingertips pressed down slightly, rumpling the linen. Orson seemed to savor a particularly delicious thought for a moment, then spoke again. 

“Come sit on my lap.”

Jyn huffed in surprise, speechless. 

“Come, now.” Orson slid his chair back and patted his thigh. “Sit on my lap and I’ll tell you everything.” 

“ _ Ridiculous _ .” Jyn gave him a blazing look and set her mouth, but Orson just leaned forward, intent. 

“You want to. Even if your Kyber wasn’t alight, your eyes are. And your breath-” His gaze flashed to the side as he mentally palpated the air. “It quickens…”

Jyn stopped her inhalation and held it. 

“You can’t hide from me.” He said in wicked hum that made Jyn clench. She shifted in her seat and allowed herself to exhale. 

Orson reset his shoulders, cocked his head, and patted again. “Do I have to command you?”

“I am Empress,” Jyn snapped back. “I can command as well. Sit on  _ my _ lap!” 

Orson threw back his head and laughed. It was almost a cackle, sharp and breathy, like illuminated dust within a bright shard of sunlight. 

Jyn smiled and looked down, savoring her own amusement quietly. After a moment, Orson cleared his throat and tilted his head toward the passage door.

“I saw my Jedhaic translations on the desk. Did you find them interesting?”

“For the most part,” Jyn replied. “I turned past the lineage maps.” 

“Bit dry,” smiled Orson. “What else were you up to in my absence?” 

“I trained.” 

Orson’s eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened with interest. “Did you spar with any of my fighters?” 

“Not yet. I’m hoping for at least six when Merrick can spare them.” 

“He will spare them first thing tomorrow, if you wish.” 

“I want them fully armed. No sparring weapons.”

The Emperor lifted his chin and frowned. He opened his mouth to protest, but Jyn spoke first.

“Only children fight with toys.”

His mouth closed and a slight, half smile formed. 

“I will not kill any of your people-”

“ _ Our  _ people,” murmured Orson.

“-But they will be injured. They must understand this before sparring with me.”

“I’m more worried about my Empress being harmed.” 

“Then you are faithless,” retorted Jyn. 

A brief, wounded look crossed her husband’s face like a low scudding cloud before clearing into broad sunlight as he smiled. “Very well. You shall have your barbarous, bloody fight.” 

Jyn ignored the bait and gave a nod. 

“May I observe?” he asked, eyes darkening. 

Another nod, then a shift in the atmosphere, as if thousands of translucent, beating wings converged around Jyn, lifting the little hairs on the back of her neck, humming like an approaching storm. 

“I’ll ring for the servants to clear,” she murmured. 

“Do that.” 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It rained that night, and the wind blew cool spatterings of mist through the open balcony doors. The candles had winked out, but soft light from Jyn’s pendant lit up her husband’s face as he touched her. 

He began with soft, subtle currents, his left hand held up, broad fingers making circular movements as if drawing shapes on a pane of frost. 

Jyn lay facing him, watching his fingers with fascination, until a tendril of air stroked her breast and her eyes fluttered closed. He seemed to whisper, and his whispers fused with the air, giving it substance and shape. It became a feather brushing against her skin, up the slope of her breast, then quickly downward across her nipple and Jyn whimpered at the almost painful rush of arousal. 

She pressed her fingertips against his chest, into the muscle, as if she were trying to penetrate the skin and root herself in his heart. If she spoke, if she let all of the words that she wanted to say to him fall from her lips, would they join with his Sky whisperings and create new, terrifying magic? She closed the space between them and kissed him, quieting his spell and igniting another, blood deep. She threw her leg over his and drew him even closer, and Orson growled through their kiss as the Kyber touched his skin. Jyn felt a bolt of his desire streak through her, then felt the vicious tug on the reigns as he tried to control it. She broke the kiss and snuggled even closer, burying herself into the warm darkness of his neck. He had already reached between them, finding her through touch and response, and his hand spread over her hip as he drove into her. 

Jyn’s cry of pleasure was muffled by darkness, but his shook the air. His fingertips dug into her hip and his chest heaved against hers with labored breaths. Jyn held him, patient, and felt her own tight softness around his cock, felt him plunge into her, felt the overwhelming desire to move within her clenched heat. 

He began to rock against her, driving into her slowly, and Jyn’s breath hitched as she yielded and gripped. There was no respite; no relief from the rushing current of pleasure that swirled between them both. It was energizing and exhausting. She wanted to take him in and thrust into herself all at once. 

He began to speak. Breathless, shaking Sky words that Jyn did not know the meaning of. 

_ Tell me, _ she begged silently.  _ Tell me.  _

His words dissolved into a primitive groan as he shifted his weight, rolling Jyn onto her back. He braced his hands on the bed and lifted himself, still thrusting into her rhythmically, and the link faded until Jyn could only feel her own response. She began to tremble, nearing the edge. 

The Emperor loomed over her, and she saw his wet, parted mouth and the unearthly gleam in his eyes. He gained focus and strength from the broken link, but Jyn had tasted the chaotic wildness, and she was enraptured by it. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She wanted him to feel what he did to her. 

Grasping her pendant, she yanked hard, splitting the clasp, and pushed the crystal against his chest. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut as if pierced by a blade. His hips jerked, and she held him and tilted her own hips to meet his. He was full to bursting and she pulsed around him so tightly, she could not withstand… _ he _ could not hold on…

Overcome, shaking, Jyn’s hand fell limp from Orson’s chest. He caught it and entwined his fingers in hers, pressing the kyber into their palms. White sunlight streaked through Jyn’s mind and she tensed and cried out, then felt the throb of release radiate up from their center. Sky and Earth together.

 

He had collapsed onto her, but his weight felt delicious. Jyn breathed in and smelled rain and soil  and her husband’s warm, sunlit scent. He made a rough, low sound of satisfaction, then rolled onto his side, bringing Jyn with him. Her hand, now curled around the Kyber, he gently squeezed before wrapping his arms around her. He rested his lips on her forehead, and Jyn was lulled to sleep by the soft breeze of his breath in her hair. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The dirt had absorbed the rain from the night before, and had a thin, sandy surface. Jyn took note as she walked the perimeter of the training circle. There would be some slip under her feet, which was ideal for movement, but if she had to root herself, there would be a heightened cost to her energy. 

Seven Skies were stationed near the edge of the circle. Only the East point was left open, where the Emperor sat. The fighters were clothed in traditional, celestial armor, but this was not a concern. Jyn knew their weak points like the back of her hand. 

Flashing a glance at the Emperor, she suddenly felt nervous. He sat in an impressive chair on a dais just outside the circle. He was leaning to the side, eyes bright, hand clenched and knuckles at his lips. She almost reached focus toward her husband as she took her stance at the center of the circle, but decided against it. She would need to conserve her energy. 

The first two fighters went down easily. They charged at Jyn from either side, whirling their silvery short swords, and were rewarded with sharp jabs to their necks that sent them stumbling backward, hands clutching their throats for breath. The third fighter was more creative, and twisted his sword so a beam of sunlight flashed white in Jyn’s eyes before he made a sweep toward her center with a small talon blade. Jyn lowered her stance and spun her staff in a source strike, cracking his vulnerable ankle, then sweeping upward to connect with his chin. The fighter flew back, weapons clattering to the ground, and Jyn sent a pulse of focus blooming outward in a broad circle.

_ Arm taut, fingers lifting _

She spun her staff, knocking the arrow from its flight path, but before the archer could nock another, Jyn had already retrieved the talon blade from the ground and flung it, dart like, into his shoulder. Jyn winced as she felt the blade pierce flesh, then cut focus. 

Turning to her left, she whirled her staff at trunk level and narrowly missed the three remaining soldiers, who split like spread wing feathers and surrounded Jyn. 

_ Weight shifting to heel _

Jyn kicked up her staff and blocked the downward sword strike; a metallic clang ringing out from the clash. The fighter rocked back to thrust forward but Jyn evaded him, spinning her staff, and sent another pulse outward.

She could have done it with her eyes closed, their heartbeats were so strong. 

Driving her staff to the ground, Jyn launched herself into a crescent kick, taking out the fighter at her back. Once he dropped, she sent his sword scudding across the smooth dirt with another kick before lifting her staff to strike at the crown of the fighter to her left.  He staggered backward, but held onto his sword, and for a split second, Jyn caught sight of the Emperor. He was standing rigid as a statue, arms crossed, with an amused expression on his face.

Jyn drove her staff backward and grinned as she heard the sharp yelp of pain from the fighter behind her. She whirled around and finished him with a head strike while he clutched at his middle. 

The final swordsman approached, and Jyn could feel the pounding of his head wound and his flimsy grip on the sword. She took her stance.

“Drop your sword and retreat,” she called out. “You’re finished.” 

The fighter squared his shoulders and spun his sword defiantly, then took a step toward Jyn.

All at once, a ferocious blast of wind struck them both.

Jyn turned her head and gasped for breath, trying to take hold of her scattered senses. Her hair whipped around her face and the wind roared in her ears. Dimly, she heard the swordsman cry out in fear and drop to the ground, then she watched him drag himself backward, away from the source of the blast. 

The kyber burned hot. Jyn drove her staff downward and held on for stability, lowering herself into a crouching position, then quickly looked with narrowed eyes to see the Emperor at the Eastern curve of the circle. 

He was standing, arms raised, his white cape spread and rippling like a banner.

Tears welled up and streamed down her cheeks as the wind intensified into a punishing gale. 

_ Alright, keep it up. You will tire before I do.  _

There was no way to engage him. Only withstand and outlast. 

Through her closed lids, Jyn saw a flash of light, then the earth beneath her rumbled as a stab of thunder split the sky. 

_ You’re just blustering.  _

“Yield!” shouted Orson, and punctuated his demand with another clap of thunder. 

Jyn would have smiled to herself at her husband’s love for drama, but she was locked in a wince of effort. Her neck was beginning to ache, and her knuckles whitened. She had only to show her palm to signal her yield, but instead she gripped her staff even harder. 

Suddenly, the staff was yanked upward and flung away from her. Jyn yelped in surprise, but didn’t lift her head to track the weapon. All her focus went into regaining balance. She gritted her teeth and planted her hands on the ground, settling all her weight into the earth. Roots of energy plunged downward through gravel and soil, spreading like fingers and taking hold. She was crouched now, melting into the earth, breathing as deeply and calmly as she could. 

“Yield!”

His voice had lost some of its bellowing strength, though it seemed a bit closer to her. The wind was so penetrating, Jyn’s controlled breathing turned into shallow, sporadic gasps that fogged her mind and made her heart thud in her chest. She tried to open her eyes, but only saw a slit of light until tears blurred and dirt scratched them shut again. 

He could take her breath, he could strike her down with a bolt of lightning, he could likely pick her up in a funnel of wind and toss her like a leaf, but he didn’t. This was a show of strength and power. 

_ He wants to show his worth.  _

The realization seemed to sink into her and anchor her senses. The Kyber was marble cold. Drained. Now, Jyn only fought the soft, black lure of unconsciousness. She had to stay awake. Her own element betrayed her, tugged at her, sinking, seductive; begging her to melt into darkness.  

_ I will hold I will hold _

She heard a sound, close and yet distant, as if heard through a narrow tunnel. It was a tight, weak groan of exhaustion. It was Orson. All at once, the driving wind shuddered, shifted, and dissolved into silence.

Jyn opened her eyes. She saw her hands on the ground; her fingers pushed into the dirt up to her knuckles.  She saw Orson’s hands close to hers, also on the ground, spread, and very pale. He had fallen to his knees and was crouched over, breathing heavily. 

Jyn pulled her hands from the earth and reached for him. She clasped her hand over his and squeezed gently. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a challenging chapter to write, but I hope it was effective. Please let me know if you liked it. Thank you for being a reader. It means everything.


	13. Chapter 13

 

_When was the last time she actually giggled?_

_It must have been years ago, when she was a little girl, and it must have been over something she held close. Something small, and warm, and living._

 

“You’re infuriating! Stop it!”

“Let them fly!”

“It took me an _hour_ to gather these, you absolute _child_ -”

“And look how beautiful they are! Free to find their way...”

“They’re not free, they’re being carried off by you and your Sky trickery!”

The Emperor grinned and spread his fingers in a circular sweep, sending plumes of featherseeds swirling upward around Jyn’s head. A bit of fuzz brushed her cheek and she broke into a smile, then turned her back to hide her giggle.

“I shall crown you with them,” declared Orson in a ridiculously haughty voice.

“No!” Jyn squeaked, and snatched up her skirts before sprinting off toward the treeline.

“Your Majesty!” she heard him call out, “Your crown!”

Gasping and laughing, Jyn plunged into the shade of the Eastern woods. She bounded left and spied an ancient oak; it’s thick trunk covered with frills of silver lichen.

It was an obvious hiding place, but then, she wanted to be found.

The Emperor’s footfalls softly crunched the forest floor as he entered the woods. Jyn listened and trembled, her Kyber dancing with excited light. The forest took a quivering breath around her. Oak leaves lifted as if glancing upward, and even the starflowers in their low, sheltered patches stirred as he approached.

From a close, low branch, a peregrine falcon chirped.

“My Earth captive has escaped. Have you seen her?”

His footsteps stopped. Jyn pressed her lips together and suppressed another giggle.

“She’s dark and sullen, but her name is bright as gold.”

He was very close, now. Just on the other side of the oak.  

“When I catch her, I’ll bind her wrists.”

A gasp escaped from Jyn as her whole body flushed. She covered her mouth with both hands, grateful for the stoic stability of the tree at her back.

“I’ll tie her to my bed and convince her to stay with me forever.”

There was a sensual shift of energy within her. Vibration and excitement morphing into a low, heavy warmth. She yielded to it, as she always did, and stepped out from behind the tree.

 

Jyn broke into a broad smile at the sight of her husband. He stood, palms up, as if presenting a precious object. Suspended and softly whirling above his hands was the mass of featherseeds that she had gathered.

“Orson,” she breathed, and stepped toward him, one hand held out to touch the swirling white.

“That’s it little one, come this way,” he smiled, backing up.

Jyn planted her feet, but spoke in her softest, most suggestive tone.

“If you let me plant them now, we’ll have some time before the guests arrive…”

The seeds twitched upward in a spasmodic gust before settling into their soft orbit once again. Orson’s eyes glinted; clearly weighing the delight of teasing his wife with the prospect of taking her for the third time that day.

“Very well,” he said, and let his hands drop to his sides.

Jyn tisked with exasperation, but lifted her overskirt in time to catch most of the drifting seeds. Clutching the bundle close, she shot an admonishing look at Orson before breezing past him.

“Wait for me in our chambers,” she called over her shoulder.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Jyn felt sunsoaked and languid, unfurled into full bloom under a bright sky. Her body was covered in pink splotches from his bites and her lips were swollen.

She was insatiable. The taste of him filled her mouth.

Entangled in sheets, she rolled over onto her back and stretched luxuriously. A hot bath was waiting for her in the adjoining chamber, but she wanted to watch Orson emerge from his washroom, smooth and gruff, with his hair meticulously combed and his face shining.

Through the wall, Jyn could faintly hear the movements of handmaidens preparing to dress her for the ball. The fluffing and re-smoothing of silk, the soft clink of hair ornaments being chosen and layed out, the opening and closing clack of the wardrobe.

She had not given any direction about which gown to wear, because she couldn’t have cared less. Perhaps she should go to the ball wrapped in bedsheets. Soaked with their combined scents, a sly, satisfied smile on her face. Let those haughty Scarifians see _that_. An earth awakened by an open, generous sky.  

 

“You should be dressed.”

Jyn’s eyes flew open at her husband’s voice. She stretched again, then lazily rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow.

The Emperor was in full formal attire. He wore his usual white tunic and black pants, but his white cape was edged with golden embroidery. Delicate stars and slashes of sunlight. His belt buckle was gold as well. Jyn wanted to undo it.

“Why another ball?” she sighed. “Why not just call a meeting with the Lords and have it be done?”

“Because we would have had a celebration on this day, regardless.” Orson wedged a finger under his collar and tugged, then rolled his shoulders. “This way, I can avoid suspicion at not inviting any Mustafarians. Only Skies celebrate this particular celestial event.”

“And what _is_ this celestial event?” yawned Jyn.

“Sativran is at its Southern apex. The beginning of the golden circle.”

An indifferent shrug.

“It’s an ushering in to Summer,” said Orson solemnly, pulling on his gloves.

Jyn sputtered out a laugh. “Solstice isn’t for another month!”

The Emperor scowled and approached the bed with quick, sharp strides. Jyn raised herself into a kneeling position and clutched the sheet around her.

He stopped and stood rigid, immaculately dressed, looking down at the rumpled, warm chaos of dark hair and flushed skin.

“Insolent girl.”

Jyn let go of the sheet and felt a hot pulse emanate from her husband. His eyes were silver rimmed. Bright, hungry, and hard.

“Get dressed.”

“Kiss me first.”

He turned his head to the side and licked his lips. “If I kiss you, we will both be absent for this very important occasion.”

“Take off your gloves.  
“No, Jyn.”

“Touch me.”

Orson’s jaw clenched.

“You want me again,” she pressed.

He cleared his throat and looked down, then pulled to tighten his already tight gloves.

“I always want you.” Almost a whisper, gaze still lowered.

A soft breeze flowed across Jyn’s lips.

“Make haste,” he said curtly, then strode out of the room.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Washed, dressed, and coiffed within an inch of her life, Jyn peered into the vanity mirror. She tilted her head, disbelieving, then looked toward the windows. No light shone through, for the moon was in the East. She looked back at her reflection. Her kyber was subdued and dim, but her skin was luminous; glowing like polished quartz.

It had been eight days since the Emperor’s return from Draven’s Keep, and Jyn felt as if she walked in a perpetual dream. Everything was sunlit and starlit, and even the slightest breeze made her blood rush.

Orson kept to a routine of study and matters of state, but he was never far from her. He would surprise her often, like a sudden gust, then smile and kiss her hand, leaving her stirred and flustered.

In the evenings, though, he would settle. He would sit at the table and gaze at her with vivid eyes while she talked about Eadu. He’d ask eager questions, weigh her answers with his own knowledge of Earth lore, then smile and shift his gaze while he re-calibrated his mental map.

She watched him do this, and fell even more in love, and no longer fought against it.

There was always music after dinner, and the Emperor would take Jyn’s hand and lead her into the Cloud Room. Dancing with him, after knowing him so intimately, was an intoxicating experience. It was slower, deeper; his broad hand spread across her lower back and pressing her against him. She could detect subtle changes in his scent as his excitement rose. The music seemed to melt into them both and fuse them together. The waltz never lasted very long before Orson would stiffen and growl and pull Jyn briskly upstairs to their bedchamber. She always relented, carried by wind and clouds. She let the wildness consume her.  

 

Jyn’s gaze had wandered. She brought it back to her reflection. Her pupils were hugely dark, and her cheeks had reddened. Love was a potent beautifier.

She left her chambers to find Orson restlessly pacing at the far end of the hallway.

When he saw her, he halted and stood still for a moment, then held out a gloved hand. His face was a mask of formality. Narrow, stern and sinewy. Jyn lay her hand in his and reflected on his other face. The one bathed in moonlight. Thrown back, lips parted and wet, caught in ecstasy. A face lined in symbols that only she knew the meaning of.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it quickly, then cleared his throat.

“Stay at my side. We’ll descend the main stair together.”

Jyn edged closer to her husband. So close, her breast brushed against his arm. He tensed.

“You said you’d bind my wrists...” she murmured, lifting her gaze. “You didn’t.”

“No, I did not,” growled Orson through a tight jaw, “I did not get the _opportunity_ , as you climbed me like a wild creature and _impaled_ yourself upon me.” He looked away, tugging hard at his collar, then wiping his lips with his fingers. Jyn did not need to focus to sense the hot rush of arousal surge through him.

“Kiss me,” she said again, holding back a smile.

“Gods help me- _We must receive our guests!_ ”

“I’ll go if you kiss me.”

“Where is your Earth restraint?”

“Thrown to the winds. Kiss me.”

He turned and locked eyes with her. “You don’t understand, do you? If I kiss you I won’t be able to stop.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

The alabaster and silver Cloud Room had been transformed to summer gold. Enchanted torches radiated sunset colors that crept, blood warm, into every corner of the ballroom. Heavy tapestries had replaced the gossamer light curtains, and their gilded borders seemed to flicker in the burnished light. This was Fire magic at work; a proud display of the Emperor’s vast and varied knowledge, but it made Jyn uneasy.

With each Duchess, Countess, or Lady that Jyn had to greet, she also had to endure their perfume. A sharp strike of lily of the valley, waxy sweet gardenia, an insipid distillation of violet that bore little resemblance to the real scent.

Her eyes watered and she almost sneezed twice.

“What a _lovely_ dress,” cooed one of Lord Draven’s daughters as she floated past Jyn.

“So _nice_ to see the Bright Star in light colors…” The last said with a wheedling glance at the Emperor.

“I’m wearing black from now on,” grumbled Jyn under her breath, and Orson coughed to conceal his chuckle before responding.

“She’s only envious of you. There was a time when the whole court believed I would marry her.”

Jyn bristled, and looked again at the Draven girl. She wore long, white hair ribbons that trailed behind her as she flitted from friend to friend.

The Kyber darkened and chilled. It infuriated Jyn to see that girl wear the Emperor’s color.

Suddenly, she felt the heat of Orson’s breath on her neck as he leaned down close. “But I didn’t marry her, did I?” His clean, hilltop scent flowed around Jyn, driving away the chaotic fog of perfume.

“You had to make an alliance. An _arrangement_ ,” she retorted.

The beginning strains of a waltz echoed across the ballroom, and Orson slid his arm around Jyn’s waist, pulling her into the dance. The breezy lightness from earlier had evaporated, and now she carried a stone in her chest. Dense with fear and jagged with anger.

Jyn avoided her husband’s eyes, but felt his soft, searching gaze. It wandered over her, looking for a way in.

“You’re hiding from me again...In your little dark place.”

Jyn relaxed slightly. Orson’s voice held powerful magic, and he knew it. He spread his fingers against the small of her back and pressed her against him.

“Does it feel like an arrangement when you scream my name? Does it feel like an arrangement when you wrap your little hand around me and make me beg?”

Fear and anger crumbled into dust. Only a deep, drenched ache remained.

The Emperor bowed his head and kissed the Kyber. Jyn inhaled sharply, and heard Orson groan as her arousal was laid bare to him. He raised up, pressing his forehead against hers. She could almost taste him, his lips were so close.

“An arrangement isn’t supposed to drive us both to the edge of madness.”

Jyn tilted her chin up, lips parted, but he was gone.

Unknown arms replaced his, and an unfamiliar face smiled down at her. Jyn went rigid, her Kyber frozen, but she managed to return a stiff, pained smile to her new dance partner.

 

Sky waltzes were fluid and swirling, but surprisingly structured as well, and Jyn found herself tripping up much more than what was seemly for an Empress. She tried to concentrate, but her mind was clouded by desire, and jealousy, and doubt.

It was only after the fourth reel that Jyn caught sight of her husband again. He was dancing with the Draven girl. Jyn stiffened and stepped on her partner’s foot.

“Pardon,” she blurted out, her eyes never leaving Orson.

The Emperor was smiling and shaking his head. He wagged a finger at the laughing girl and reached out to pull one of the ribbons loose from her pale hair.

Jyn contracted her hand so viciously, her dance partner inquired if she were unwell and about to faint.

“I’m...yes. I’m overheated. Please excuse me,” stammered Jyn, and turned to make her way for an exit, an escape, _anywhere_ she could come to her senses.

The crowd was a blur around her; heads bowed as she strode past and she ignored them. She thought she heard her name, she felt her Kyber flutter with heat, but she continued on.

Scanning the borders of the room, her heart sank. The balcony doors were blocked by guests, the main entrance was mobbed, even the vast archway to the dining hall was barred by a flock of Skies.

She was fully aware how foolish she was being, how weak. If she were physically attacked, she would know what to do. Even if she were caught weaponless and unarmored, she could fight with confidence, but she had no strategy for protecting her exposed and vulnerable heart.

 

With relief, Jyn at last spied a deserted corner of the ballroom; its panelling half concealed by a heavy drape. She walked towards it with grateful, hurried steps.

_Ground yourself. Be rational._

She touched the wall, breathed, and closed her eyes.

_Reach deep._

She took another controlled breath to center herself, but her Kyber would not calm. It vibrated hot and expectant.

A large hand wrapped around her waist.

“Caught you.”

There was an impulse to resist, but it was eclipsed by surprise as Orson pushed the panel inward and pulled them both into darkness.

 

As Jyn’s eyes adjusted, darkness became dim, flickering torchlight. She found herself on a landing at the top of a narrow, curved stair. A servant passage to the Cloud Room.

With one gloved hand, Orson pushed the panel until it shut with a muffled clack. The other hand he lifted, and opened.

A swirl of white ribbon lay against the black leather.

“Give me your wrists.”

His eyes were piercing. Bright silver even in the low light of the passage. Jyn felt a bolt of excitement course through her blood.

“Orson-”

“ _Your wrists._ ” His lisp was slight, but she heard it. Gods, she loved him.

He extended her arms, and the Emperor wound the ribbon around her wrists. He pulled tight, and Jyn gasped as the satin constricted. She could twist a little without pain, but was firmly bound.

Orson cocked his head and lifted a gloved finger to Jyn’s lips.

“Bite.”

Jyn parted her lips, eyes closing, and felt the leather clad fingertip touch her tongue. She bit down gently, then felt a tug as he pulled back to loosen the glove. He brought a second finger to her lips.

“Bite.”

She took it in, opening her eyes, feeling a stab of ache between her legs as she locked her gaze with his. She bit down again, felt the tug, then released him. The taste of leather flooded her mouth.

Torchlight flickered and cast a golden glow across Orson’s face as he removed the glove. Jyn took a mischievous step forward, and found his hardness with her cupped, captive hands.

Orson stiffened and released a shaking breath, his glove falling to the floor. The Kyber glinted like sunlight through leaves as Jyn focused.

_He wanted her. Desperately. It was taking everything in him to resist._

With a growl, Orson clamped a hand around her bound wrists and yanked them over her head. He spoke a phrase in Scarifian, and the torch flame bent with a crackling, sputtering sound and blew out. Darkness deepened. The passage was now lit from one remaining torch halfway down the stair.

Jyn was soft and yielding. She rubbed against Orson’s body and bent her fingers, trying to caress the hand that pinned her.

The Emperor picked up the extinguished torch and flung it aside, then hooked Jyn’s wrists over the curved metal sconce. There was a moment, breathless, as his lips once again drew near to hers. He touched the Kyber with his bare fingers.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she reassured him in a whisper.

“It will,” he whispered back, and kissed her.

Jyn could taste traces of herself, still on his tongue, from the sundrenched hour when he had lain between her legs and licked her like a dripping, split fruit. She whimpered at the memory of it, and felt the bright surge of arousal ignite her blood. It made her wild and impatient. With free reign she would have mounted him, shaking out her dark hair, or she would have clawed at his arms and pulled him close until he drove into her. Instead, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth. She bit slowly, then sucked at the bite, as he would do to her swollen, sensitive clit.

Orson pulled off the other glove and reached around Jyn’s neck. His tongue thrust against hers. He unclasped the chain.

Jyn broke from the kiss with a gasp, then watched as the Emperor stepped back and put the chain around his own neck. He lifted the crystal, eyes dancing with reflected light, and drove it under his collar.

  


Orson winced and turned away from Jyn as his senses heightened in a dizzying rush.

The soft hum of music through the walls sharpened and crystallized into an almost unbearable spectrum of shards. Each pluck of the strings scraped his nerves. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, as if he had called upon the lightning.

He breathed in, concentrating, trying to focus on a single line of text within the chaos of symbols.

There was warmth at his throat. Reassuring warmth.

He breathed in again.

Scent was amplified, vivid. Acerbic smoke from the extinguished torch, a metallic scent of stone, and another that made him harden almost painfully. Wet, dark wood. Soil after a rainstorm. Jyn. The scent that saturated his lips and hands and drove him mad with hunger.

There was a pulse- Two pulses. One was hers. It quickened along with her breath.

_She’s aching for me_

The realization grounded him, dimming the cacophony of sensory input.  He straightened, rolling his shoulders back, and turned to face Jyn. Her hair had come undone and tumbled loose around her bare shoulders. Her skin glowed, even in the darkness of the passage, and it wasn’t the white gown that made her radiant, she glowed when she wore black as well. It was just... _her_. His Bright Star.

He stepped forward and tilted his head. He watched as Jyn licked her lips and he sensed another surge of glittering, aching arousal. She kept her wet lips parted.

He had suspected as much. Her lips reflecting her desire.

He touched her mouth, running the tip of his finger along her full lower lip. Her eyes were wide, dark pools. She was endlessly fascinating. He could study her for a thousand years and still turn each page with excitement.

She gave a slow blink. Heavy from desire.

It would be so easy to lift her up, cupping her backside in his hands and plunging into her until she cried out. Until she clenched around him and pulled him into living darkness.

But he could not. His Empress needed him. She was uncertain and threatened. She called it an _arrangement._ She needed to be reminded.

 

“Now…” he hummed. “Who am I?”

_A thrilling flash through the blood_

“Emperor Krennic,” answered Jyn.

Orson gathered her cool skirts in his hands and lifted them. “No, Earth rebel. You have forgotten, or you wouldn’t have tried to hide from me. Who am I?”

“Your Highness- Majesty-”

He let his fingertips graze her thigh.

“Wrong again.”

Jyn parted her thighs and wrapped her leg around his. Heat radiated from her and the scent of earth deepened. Orson felt himself tense as he fought to control his own desire.

_His hand is rough against her skin, her hands are curled into fists_

He followed the heat to its source.

_Her heart pounds_

He dipped a finger into her wetness and stroked upward, feeling Jyn tense, then shudder against him. She was whimpering softly, and it was more beautiful than any sound he knew.

Keeping his touch feather light, he found her swollen clit and circled it.

“High Star,” Jyn breathed, “High Star...Commander of the Five-”

“No, no, no.” Orson stilled his hand.

Jyn groaned with frustration and twisted her wrists, straining against her bonds.

_Shards of pain at the wrists_

“Don’t struggle, little rebel. It hurts when you do that.”

He pressed again, circling, sending ripples of pleasure through Jyn. She moved her hips in an effort to rub against his fingers, and Orson felt a wicked thrill at her desperation. His gaze flitted across her face and neck, studying her language, each rapid inhalation and languorous exhalation, each burning flush and twist of her body.

_Clenched...trembling..._

The Emperor paused his touch.

“ _Orson,_ ” Jyn pleaded.

“Remember who I am. _Remember who I chose to be._ ”

She inhaled. Air was cold and dead until it touched her, entered her, and she released it back into the world, warm, and wet, and living.

“Husband…”

Her breathing was so beautiful when she found release. It fluttered like leaves, or wings. She broke like a rainstorm and drenched him; his hand, his senses.

_Slowing, subsiding throbs, the press of his fingers_

“I chose you for my wife, Jyn. Do not forget again.”

He wanted to put his fingers in his mouth and taste her, but instead he held her close while he reached up and plucked apart the knot. She settled against him, her forehead at his chest, heart level. Only after Jyn’s shaking had subsided, and her breaths slowed, did Orson become aware of the shift in his own energy.

How did she withstand it? He felt utterly drained.

He reached back and unclasped the chain, then gingerly lifted the Kyber from under his collar. It hummed and flickered, but its warmth had subsided. Jyn, however, was radiating languorous, satisfied heat against him.

“Empress…” he said low, as if awakening her from sleep, and Jyn rubbed her forehead against him before looking up. Her eyes were earth dark.

 

His eyes did not leave hers as he clasped the chain around her neck, and Jyn reached up and touched his cheek. He was weary, and his unsatisfied arousal pained him, but he looked at her with tenderness.

“Let me help you,” she murmured.

He exhaled a quick, broad smile, then turned his head and kissed her palm.

“There will be time later.”

Seeing the ribbon still wrapped around her wrist, he took her wrist in his hands and unwound the ribbon.

There was a muffled clicking sound. Footsteps, coming up the staircase. Jyn turned to see a serving boy, tray in hand, round the corner and halt on the landing below.

He stammered for a moment, eyes wide with fear.

“Dispose of this,” the Emperor commanded, and let the ribbon fall, limp and pale, to the floor.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

 

Jyn indulged in visions of the Emperor, arms raised, cape flaring, calling upon a fierce gale to sweep away the Sky nobles like dry leaves.

She smiled into her wineglass as she took a sip and let her gaze wander over the dining hall.

“Your thoughts are wicked,” rumbled Orson.

The wine effervesced on her tongue. She turned and met her husband’s eyes, then took another slow, deliberate sip.

Orson picked up a slice of fruit and stripped the flesh from the peel with his teeth, sucking in the juice loudly. His eyes never left hers as he chewed, lips wet, and swallowed. He discarded the peel onto his plate and waved his fingers to have it cleared.

Jyn set down her glass. “And what are your thoughts?”  

“That’s a difficult question for a Sky. Many things at once.” His gaze swept to the side and scudded over the room. “Things that must be done-” His eyes with her again. “Things that I _want_ to attend to…”

Warmth spread through her chest as if she had downed the rest of the wine.

“It would be easier to ask what I’m _not_ thinking about,” he added, then swiped a knuckle across his lips.

“But then, in answering, you’d be thinking about it,” smiled Jyn.

Orson’s brows twitched upward in wry agreement. He turned back to face the dining hall and drummed his fingers on the table. Restlessness, like static, began to build and crackle around him.

“I shall stand in a moment, and our guests will make their way to the terrace for Sativran’s rise. General Merrick and the lords will join me in the Silver Hall.”

“What shall I do?”

Orson’s scattered energy seemed to pause, then coalesce. The look he gave Jyn was direct but gentle. “You are Empress, you may do as you wish.”

Jyn did not say what she really wanted. She didn’t need to. Orson grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips.

“They’ll all be gone by morning, Empress,” he murmured, then released her hand. “Don’t you ever have gatherings in Eadu?” He was now smiling, boyish. He tilted his head in that quick, sharp way of his when he teased her.

“We do,” began Jyn, and Orson leaned closer to listen. “Music and dancing, in the kyber caves. It helps strengthen the bonds between my people and the crystals.”

“Mmm hmm…”

Not an hour earlier she was blissfully satiated by his touch, and now she felt as if she were starving.

“The music is very different and the dancing is far more...informal.”

“Is it, now?” He was giving her that mischievous, maddening smile of his. “Show me.”

“Your players have no drums,” said Jyn, patting her hastily re-pinned hair.

“I have a feeling you could improvise without music.”

“Yes, and the whole of Sky society will think the Empress has lost her mind.”

Orson sat back in his chair, eyes vivid. “Perhaps later.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

There were no enchanted torches lit in the Silver Hall. No preternatural orange glow, no crackle and hiss, like the scuttling sounds of a lizard on sand.

In the council room of the Skies, there was only the soft, starlit glow from many candles set in polished metal.

 

“Your Majesty, surely you’d rather join the ladies out on the terrace? They’ll be viewing Sativran through a skyglass-”

“No, Lord Feyn.”

Bluntness had an amusing effect on Skies. Feyn’s neck twitched straight, like an offended rooster, and his mouth shifted from an insincere smile to a scowl.

“Bright Star,” he replied tightly, and gave a bow before retreating to his seat at the council table.

Jyn glanced over at Orson, who was speaking with General Merrick. The impression Merrick gave was one of alert stoicism, but Jyn could see the fretfulness underneath. Orson must have sensed it as well, for he seemed to consciously brighten his expression, and even slapped an encouraging hand on Merrick’s shoulder.

 

_Draven, Merrick, Feyn, Andrid, Moroff._

The five highest lords of the realm, and the five points of Emperor Krennic’s army.

They took their seats and listened as Orson recounted the skirmish at Draven’s Keep. The Emperor was casual and confident, standing at the head of the table, and every time he drew close to Jyn her Kyber flooded with warmth.

When he was finished, he straightened, and crossed his arms. There was a moment of contemplative silence around the table.

 

“I wonder what Vader will make of it, destroying his gift to you...” said Andrid, breaking the silence.

Jyn flinched at the thought of the The Void being a _gift_.

“Perhaps Vader does not know how they were destroyed,” offered Feyn.

“If any Fires were able to crawl their way back to Mustafar Castle, I’m sure they gave him a full report,” replied Orson with a contemptuous smile. “He’ll know my strength, and perhaps he’ll think twice about testing me.”

Draven’s shoulders were relaxed and his hands were clasped on the table, but Jyn saw the strained, whitened knuckles.

“It wasn’t a test, it was a reminder.” Draven’s words were clipped. “A reminder of what we’re up against unless you provide him with-” His eyes flashed toward Jyn, then lowered. His hands unclasped. “Unless you adhere to the agreement.”

“There was no formal agreement. Only an understanding,” countered Orson.

Draven’s jaw tightened and he blinked rapidly. “Of course. Peace with the _understanding_ that you will-” He cleared his throat and shot another look at Jyn.

“You need not censor yourself, Lord Draven,” said Orson.

Draven’s gaze fell to the table.

“Vader expects insight on the nature of Kyber crystals.”

“Yes, I know,” Jyn said evenly.

Moroff was tentative as he addressed Jyn.  “And...have you provided any insight into this matter, Your Majesty?”

Jyn turned to her husband.

“Have I?”

Orson’s gaze locked with hers. He held her for a moment, suspended in blue skies. When he spoke it was definitive.

“Kyber crystals are sacred objects, and Vader should never get his hands on a single fragment.”

 

There was a ripple of movement around the table. Moroff and Merrick looked relieved, and nodded in agreement, but the others were taken aback; Andrid shaking his head and Feyn holding up a hand as if to regain equilibrium. Lord Draven was still, but glared openly at Jyn.

Jyn did not notice. She was fixated on Orson. Her heart pounded and tears burned the corners of her eyes. She felt as if he had wrapped his cape around her and drew her into infinite, boundless protection.

She wanted to kiss him and thread her fingers in his hair. She wanted to say things to him that she had been terrified to say until now.

 

“After a marriage to an Earth from the Kyberi tribe, to deny Vader information about the crystals...It will break your alliance with him.” Moroff’s voice was gruff, but fatherly. It broke through Jyn’s reverie, as if he had laid a steady hand on her shoulder.

Orson tapped a gloved finger on the table as he spoke. “It was never my intention to assist Vader in weaponizing Kyber crystals. This is known to you all.”

“There has never been _talk_ of weaponizing them,” argued Draven. “Lord Tarkin has never even mentioned-”

“ _Of course_ he hasn’t,” blurted Jyn. “He’s counting on your Sky idealism. It blinds you to his plotting.”

She braced herself, expecting to feel a pulse of anger from her husband, but none came. He was tense, but calm.

“What else could Vader possibly want with Kyber crystals?” Jyn was almost pleading. She _needed_ for them to understand. “Fire delights in destruction. It consumes, or it dies.”

“I don’t see why it matters, frankly,” said Draven in a new, casual tone. Jyn furrowed her brow at him, thrown off guard by this change.

“Vader does not possess any Kyber crystals and is-” a sardonic glance toward Jyn, “-unlikely to procure any. He simply wants information. It is worth protecting the realm to share a bit of lore with him.”

Andrid and Feyn nodded in agreement, and even Moroff looked conciliatory as he stroked his cloud-like beard.

Jyn turned to her husband.

“Jedha.”

Orson cocked his head. “The silent city.”

“But it wasn’t always so.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was the spiritual center of the Fire realm until Vader decimated it.”

“But why? Why did he destroy one of his own cities?”

“Simple,” said Lord Feyn, “To incite fear and solidify his rule.”

“I don’t think it _is_ that simple,” countered Jyn. “I think there was something about the land. Something hidden that he sought. There’s a reason why it was a spiritual place; a place of power. You must always look at the _foundation_ of things.”

Even as she spoke, a realization crystallized in her mind.

“In Eadu, we have monoliths that mark where springs surface. They were built hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago. They mark a sacred place. What if Jedha _itself_ was a marker to something precious?”

“Such as..?” asked Feyn.

Orson’s eyes darkened. “Such as a kyber mine.”

There was shifting movement about the table, but Jyn continued.

“Perhaps Vader meant to destroy Jedha for the reason Lord Feyn stated, but amongst the wreckage Vader found something far greater than he expected. He had already slaughtered the priests and priestesses, so he had nobody to consult about the powers of these crystals.”

“So he turned to the Skies. The keepers of knowledge,” said Orson grimly.

Jyn nodded. “He turned to _you_.”

“If Vader already had access to Kyber crystals, why did he make demands on the High Star to take control over the Eaduian mines?” asked General Merrick.

“To prevent an alliance between Earth and Sky,” replied Jyn. “If we are at war with each other we are no threat to him.”

“This is-” cut in Draven, shaking his head. “This is all speculation. We have no proof of any of this!”

“You believe Vader just wants stories? Fairy tales about pretty stones?” Jyn shot back. “He wants a _weapon_. One that will ensure his dominance over all realms.”

“With utmost respect,” began Andrid, in an unctuous tone that repelled Jyn, “We have managed to keep peace with Vader for years. Perhaps it is best if we continue on our present course of diplomacy.”

“His resistance to elemental magic is unprecedented,” added Merrick. “He would be a most dangerous enemy.”

Jyn suspected an already broken body under the obsidian armor of Vader; a weak, wriggling, gelatinous thing. A man reduced to larval stage where nothing remained but slimeblood and ravenous will.

She had enough of idealism.

“We must use physical force against Lord Vader, and crush him once and for all.”

The Kyber felt like cold steel against her skin. Like a knife point.

Draven’s voice shook. “You are speaking of overthrowing the leader of the Fire realm. It is madness. It cannot be done.” His neck was bent, shoulders hunched, vulture like. “Vader is pure force of will. Pure might. He cannot be broken, he can only be appeased so he does not incinerate us all!”

“So you throw him bits of kindling every now and then? Surely that will keep him satisfied,” sneered Jyn.  

Draven shot to his feet and pointed a finger at Jyn.

“You know _nothing_ about what we’ve had to _-_ ”

He stopped, mouth agape.

There was a swell of air in the room, like an invisible bubble inflating, sucking in and tightening.

Draven bobbed forward, face reddened, eyes wide with terror. He grasped his neck with both hands and rolled his eyes upward.

“You are being disrespectful toward your Empress, Lord Draven.”

Orson relaxed his fingers slightly, and Draven heaved a whistling gasp. The Emperor was allowing only the thinnest ribbon of air to enter Draven’s lungs.

Jyn said nothing, but watched and waited. She should have been horrified, but instead she felt sharp, hot excitement.

Lord Moroff slowly raised himself up, as if standing before an enraged animal. He set his great, heavy hands on the table and bowed his head.

“He was told to speak freely, your Majesty. Allow me to beg, on his behalf, for mercy.”

Another tight, tortured inhalation wheezed from Draven.

Jyn looked up at Orson. He was looking down at her, silver eyed, waiting for her decision. She gave a nod and Draven collapsed into his chair as the Emperor released him.

Orson lifted his chin proudly and spoke in a placid tone over Draven’s loud, gulping breaths.

“Eadu is under my wing. If the Kyberi do not wish for me to share their lore, so be it, but they _will_ remain protected by Scarif.”

Draven’s color returned and his breath quieted. He kept his head bowed in submission.

“I do not wish to incite war. It is my intention to bring peace and security to _all_ realms.”

Jyn sensed a change. A sudden ease in the atmosphere, as if someone had drawn the curtains and let soft sunlight filter into the room. She watched as shoulders relaxed and expressions calmed. There was a strange lilt in Orson’s voice, and the Kyber sparkled white in response.

_Clever man_

She wondered if the lords even realized they were being charmed by Sky magic.

 

“Lord Draven.”

“Majesty,” rasped Draven, still cowered.

“You are our first line of defense against Mustafar. I will send additional troops to your borderlands, and General Merrick with them.”

“High Star, I beg you to reconsider. My place is here with you-”

The Emperor raised a gloved hand, silencing Merrick.

“Lord Draven is right,” continued the Emperor with an amused twitch of his shoulder. “What we saw at the border was indeed a reminder of what we’re up against-”

He raised a gloved finger and pointed skyward.

“And we answered with a little reminder of our own.”

Lord Moroff chuckled softly from his seat. The others were silent, but brightened.

All except for Draven, who sat in darkness.

Suspicion got the better of Jyn, and she began to reach focus toward Lord Draven.

“When Sativran’s holy week is over, I shall travel to Eadu with our Empress.”

Her focus evaporated instantly. Orson touched her hand, enveloped it in his, and Jyn stood up, astonished.  

Nothing else mattered, Vader, Draven, this council... It was all nothing.

The Emperor was going to Eadu.

He was bringing her home.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_I’m dying a thousand deaths_

 

Jyn squeezed her thighs together and breathed a deep, silent sigh as curls of air uncoiled, stretched, and stroked the back of her neck.

Below her, down several flights of marble stairs, elaborate carriages passed by. Agonizingly slow.

She shivered and tilted her head, lengthening her neck, and felt the currents slide down like fingers. Broad, gentle, possessive fingers.

Another carriage, another hand held upward in a departing salute, another answering gesture  from the Emperor. Shafts of dawn light skimmed, then pierced the distant treeline, staining the clouds water violet and heat pink.

“I thought perhaps you’d be upset with me. For not taking up my sword and marching directly to Castle Mustafar.”

A tendril of hair came loose and brushed her cheek, teasingly, and Jyn caught it and tucked it behind her ear.

“Upset?”

It was a whisper of disbelief.

How could she even begin to explain how she was feeling? It was not something that came naturally to her. A Water would pour their heart out with poetic declarations, but she was Earth. Soaked with emotion, darkly rich with it, but silent.

So she glanced down, and shook her head slightly, and promised herself she would _show_ him. She just had to be patient. Just a little longer.  

“When Sativran’s holy week is over, we shall travel to Eadu. Seven days and we will go.”

“I will need some more travel clothes. Sensible things. Leggings and boots and-”

“Yes, yes. But for these seven days I will dress you in the most elaborate, insufferable gowns you could possibly imagine.”  
“Gods help me.”

“I will cover you in jewels-”

“You know I cannot wear necklaces and my ears aren’t even pierced-”

“Then I will have you lie naked on the royal bed and I will scatter jewels over your body.”

“That sounds painful…”

Orson leaned over and spoke in his deepest, most devastating tone.

“I will kiss every little red wound.”

Jyn swallowed and kept her gaze forward, heat blooming in a profusion all over her body. She could sense his crooked, triumphant grin. It was almost a taste in her mouth.

Jyn turned and lifted herself up on tiptoe. She wrapped her arms around the Emperor’s neck and pressed herself against him. She closed her eyes.

Standing at the top of the marble stairs, interrupting a dignified, ancient Sky tradition, the Earth born Empress passionately kissed the High Star.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

“Those two stacks on the desk, as well. Please pack them carefully. Separate from the others.” 

Jyn rolled her Kyber pendant between her fingers and puzzled over one of the celestial charts; an intricate metal device of interlocking gears and jeweled stars. 

“Would it be possible to transport one of these?” 

A slightly panicked look from the servant. “We shall find a way, Your Majesty.” 

“No, no. I’m sure we’re bringing enough as it is-” She waved a hand and crossed the gleaming floor to a shelf filled with rolled parchments. “I think His Majesty already chose a few of these maps to bring…”

“Indeed I did.” 

Orson’s voice echoed across the library along with the sharp clacks of his boots as he entered. Servants bowed their heads and retreated, only to re-form into a small flock awaiting his command. 

He ignored them and crossed directly to Jyn, who closed the last few steps between them and offered her hand. He ignored that as well, and wrapped an arm around her waist. The rippling flash of the Kyber reflected in his eyes like sunlight on water. 

“This’ll be the last of it, then,” he murmured. “Provisions, attire, gifts, and writings. We’ll set out at dawn tomorrow.” 

“Gifts?” Jyn furrowed her brow and gave her husband a sardonic smile. “My father has no need for palace fripperies.”

“Nor do you, as you have inexhaustibly reminded me,” smiled Orson. 

Jyn’s own smile faded as a poignant realization crept over her. “You want to impress him,” she murmured.

Breeze quick, Orson’s expression changed, from jovial and expansive to indrawn, soft contemplation. “I suppose I do...Yes. The short time we spent negotiating showed him to be a remarkably intelligent man. Thoughtful, deliberate, and sensible.”

His gaze had wandered with his thoughts, but when he locked eyes with Jyn once again, she felt a slow, pleasurable stab.  

“I want him to think me worthy of his daughter,” the depth and hum of his voice was a twist of the knife. 

“A gift won’t achieve that,” Jyn countered gently, pressing against him, driving it deeper. “But I will speak to him, he will see who you are, and that will convince him.” 

Orson’s shoulder twitched upward with interest. “You’ll speak to him? What will you say?”

She had said it a thousand times, in her head, in her heart, but it was like a treasure she held in darkness. She only hid it to keep it safe, even from him.

She withdrew slightly. 

“That you’ve been kind to me, that you have good intentions for our people…”

“Nothing else?”

“What would  _ you _ have me say?”

The Emperor smiled. Quick, wide, and thin. “I would never presume,” he said in a haughty tone. He was shielding himself with levity, but Jyn felt the slight, strong flex of his hand around her waist. Clutching her close for fear of losing her. 

“Should I bring a gift for Carsican?” 

“ _ Cassian _ , and that’s not amusing in the slightest.” 

Orson lifted his chin, eyes twinkling. 

“I’ll give him a jeweled belt.”

“He’ll think it absurd.”

“Perfect.” 

Another wide, point-lipped smile. Jyn lifted up on her toes and flung her arms around the Emperor’s neck, kissing him soundly. Wings beat within her kyber. 

  
  


\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


_ The sand of Eadu Lake is black, heavy, and wet. Rich with dissolved life.  _

_ But the sand in her dream is a scorched yellow haze that filled the air like a swarm of insects, driving into the throat and lungs where it scratches and stings. _

_ There is a clatter of scorpions. Black armored, segmented, scuttling. Blades drawn and held curled above hideous faces.  _

 

“Jyn…”

She stirred, turning toward the beloved voice, and parted her lips.

“Wake.  _ You must wake! _ ” 

She kept her eyes closed, but smiled slightly. Again? After he had exhausted her into unconsciousness only hours ago? 

Stretching out her arms, she found his warmth and tugged at him, wanting to feel his weight upon her. 

She could feel his excitement like a wildfire in her veins. 

_ Burning _

“I’m awake, come back to me,” she whispered.

“Jyn-”

_ A river of fire through his blood _

_ Excitement _

_ Fear _

“Vader has come.” 

_ Fire _

Her eyes flew open to watery pre-dawn light. 

Drums...

Jyn bolted up, bleary eyed, her Kyber a languid glow after the dark richness of sleep. 

No, not drums, knocking at the chamber door. Hysterical pounding. 

“High Star we are overrun! I beg you, come with us! Escape now and live!” 

“Get the servants out. I can attend to myself,” shouted Orson toward the bolted door. His shirt was hastily put on and hung open, exposing his collarbone and the tense, strained tendons of his neck. 

“Your Majes-”

“ _ Go! _ ” 

“Where? Where is Vader?’ stammered Jyn as reality stabbed through her mind. 

“At the gates. He was cloaked in darkness, the defensive flock never even saw him. He cast them aside, Jyn. He merely lifted a hand and they-” He drew in a quick, shaking breath, then wiped his mouth with trembling fingers. 

Jyn rose from the bed and quickly dressed in the travel clothes laid out for the journey to Eadu.

“Where’s Moth? We have to help her. And the young pages, they must be terrified-”

Orson’s voice was grim and definitive. “Vader is not interested in the servants, Jyn. He has come for us.” 

“Then we shall fight him!” cried Jyn. “Call the storm like you did at Draven’s Keep!”

Strangely calm, as if consigned to a grave choice, the Emperor responded. “That was from a considerable distance, in the open air. But Vader is here, at our door. If I call the storm, I call it upon us all. It would shake the palace down around our heads.” 

His eyes glowed with unbearable, apologetic sadness. 

A sudden crash from beneath, so intense the floor shivered. 

Orson’s large, cool hand grabbed Jyn’s and pulled. She followed him, silent, heart pounding, through the silver door. He closed and bolted it behind them, then took up a candle from its alcove.

“We shall finally put this to its intended use...” said Orson wryly as he strode down the short passage, candlestick in hand. “Quickly, you go in first and I shall follow.” He pressed the glyph, releasing the secret panel, then held it open while Jyn passed into darkness.

The cool scent of limestone wrapped around her. She turned, ready to take the candle, but saw only a sliver of light rapidly thin into pitch black as the stone door was pulled shut with a hollow, groaning thud. 

“Orson!” 

His voice was muffled, but audible from beyond the stone. 

“Jyn. Hear me. You must run. Run back to Eadu. Run and live.”

“ _ Orson! _ ” she slapped against the stone, then scrambled her fingers across the marble to find the glyph to release the door. 

There was a crash from the other side, followed by another. He was breaking the glyph with the candlestick. 

“Orson!  _ No! _ ” 

“I can stall Vader, and you will have a chance. Jyn, come close.  _ Hear me- _ ” 

Tears burned, flowing, scalding her cheeks. Rivers of fire.

“I love you.”

“I love you.  _ I love you, _ ” she cried, still reaching, still clawing at stone. 

“ _ Run. _ ” 

And he had flown from the passage. She felt it. Her Kyber strained and trembled, then went dark as slate. 

 

With hitching breaths, Jyn smoothed her hands along the marble wall and descended the stair. The Kyber gave her no light, for she could not focus. Somehow she managed to make it to the bottom. Somehow she managed to find the opposite stair through the darkness and her blurred, drowned sight.

She climbed, crouched and feeling blindly with her hands, until she felt the landing and saw the pinpoint of light that looked out into the garden temple. There was a sudden, sickening fear that this glyph would not work, but when she found it with scrabbling fingers and pressed, the panel released. 

Jyn stepped out into the blue light of morning. The scent of grass and trees revived her, clearing her mind and balancing her senses. She wiped her eyes and breathed in sharply, then crept across the marble floor, emerging from the temple to face the Western treeline. 

 

With horror, she watched as several servants, clothed in flowing gray, weaved through the dense forest. A few of them were crying out, arms outstretched in the darkness, like bewildered ghosts. 

He had wanted her to run. 

The forest would be safe for her, and beyond that, the open Scarifian prairie. That would be a gamble, but if she had done it once before, quick and silent, alone and unarmed. 

Then the borders of Eadu, and safety, and home. 

But it did not tug at her as home should. 

The pull came from behind her, from the Sky palace, where he shone like a guiding star. 

She turned around and looked Eastward. A strange, unnatural vapor hung over the palace. A  haze of death. 

Jyn clenched her jaw, determination rising like a vigorous, defiant sprout. 

He loved her. 

She would be damned if she let him face that monster alone. 

 

Jyn planted her feet, breathed deeply, and sent out a vast, circular pulse of focus with her Kyber as its glowing center. It swept across the gardens to the palace, and she filtered out the tiny, innocently living things, the rapid heartbeats of rabbits, the panic of fleeing servants. 

The Emperor entered her consciousness as a burst of sunlit warmth that lifted every cell in her body. He was conscious and unharmed, but his wrists hurt. 

He was bound. 

Jyn’s throat clenched with anger and fresh tears burned her eyes. Reluctantly, she tore her focus away from him to continue her sweep. 

Those cursed Void soldiers. They gave her no physical response, but she could still pinpoint their locations by the sucking emptiness of their presence. Their negation. 

_ Four at the entrance, two and two flanking, six in the hall, hive formation, six more beyond, haphazard.  _

Something else.

Something monstrous.

_ Vader  _

Jyn recoiled, as if she had touched a scorching ember. Vader’s physicality horrified her. Fragmented and grotesque. She could not sense his limbs; only a twisted, rootless trunk. Lungs tense, like a bellows, wheezing in and out with great effort. Every breath he took was agonizingly painful. 

The Kyber wavered, cooling, already half drained. She couldn’t worry about that right now. 

_ Dig deep, down to stone _

 

Breaking into a sprint, Jyn streaked across the lawns. The back palace garden rose before her, immaculately ordered, but strewn with fallen white petals. She caught sight of one of the tall, blue flame torches, weaved toward it and yanked it from the earth. With a crescent sweep downward, Jyn slammed the torch head onto the gravel walk where it exploded into a burst of blue sparks. 

Her makeshift staff was unbalanced but strong. It would do. 

 

The Void posted at the palace entrance turned their heads toward Jyn, saw the swift blur of her approach, and broke their line to enclose her. 

The staff whirred a hollow whistle as Jyn spun it overhead, then howled as she brought it down into the narrow crevice between shoulder and neck. 

There was no grunt, no sound of pain whatsoever, just a slight stagger downward before the soldier straightened once again and readied his blade. 

All at once, with sickening clarity, Jyn knew that she wouldn’t be able to defeat the Void. She had to move  _ around _ them, like water, pushing them aside just long enough to reach Orson.

She thrust backwards, feeling the blunt stab against the bulk behind her, and pushed, teeth bared with effort, before feeling the staff release as the soldier fell away. She cried out like an enraged beast as she spun the staff again, root to crown, knocking two more Void backward. Only a few steps, only just enough. 

She sprang forward and lept up the stairs, only vaguely noticing the jagged hole where heavy palace doors had once been. 

The beautiful, shining, milk white hallway held six more Void soldiers. They infested it like beetles. Just beyond, Jyn could make out the grand entrance room, where she had knelt on the marble before the Sky Emperor. Where Orson now knelt before Vader. 

Jyn’s Kyber burned cold, nearly spent. Soon, she would fight unconsciousness as well. 

_ Water _

Jyn flowed toward the wall, the Void clattering after her. She drove her staff downward. Wall became ground, and Jyn launched herself from the vertical surface into a whirlpool strike. Four Void were hit and fell back, but one jutted forward, and Jyn felt a searing snakebite of pain pierce her shoulder. She yelped and upswept her staff for a crown strike, feeling a surge of power from the last remaining spark of her Earth strength.

The force of the blow cracked the obsidian helmet of the Void, and for a split second, the soldier froze, as if stunned.

Jyn watched in horror as a plume of ash wheezed from the fissure. The soldier wavered, sagged, and crumpled, ash drifting like snow. 

Time seemed to stretch, Jyn turning away, the line of remaining Void soldiers calmly reforming to pursue her. She broke into a run, running as a dreamer does, legs aching, feet heavy as quartz. It felt as if she were running on sand. 

Against everything that she had been taught as an Earth, Jyn rushed headlong into the heart of fire with no plan whatsoever. She only knew that she had to reach Orson, to stand, or kneel, or die with him. 

As she crossed into the grand entrance room, she saw him, still on his knees, held down by two Void, his wrists bound and hands encased in black spheres of obsidian. His expression was jagged with sadness and pain, but his eyes were torture. They were locked on her, and they glowed with adoration.

She didn’t drop her staff, and yet it fell to the floor. Her blood was thickening like winter sap. She only had a few moments left...

Vader raised his hand as if raising a goblet, and earth fell away from Jyn. She was rising, floating, limbs paralyzed. 

She gasped out words as best she could, but they sounded far away, even to her. 

“Take my Kyber. Release him.”

“ _ No, Jyn!”  _

The monster spoke in a charred, elegant growl. 

“An interesting offer…” 

She felt her Kyber lift away from her skin

Darkness gathered around the edges, bleeding inward, staining like ink. 

“...But I decline.” 

Vader’s fist clenched and with a beautiful, crystalline ping, the Kyber shattered. 

 

All was blackness except for the long, low, animal cry from her husband, and even that faded, as thunder fades, unravelling into an empty sky. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
